The Harvester Of Souls Poem by Madison Porter

As your evanescent life pours from your writhing body
As light drips from your curled fingers and is superseded
with an ethereal void
As your mind heart and soul give out
a final agonized cry
There they are
Lurking in the peripheral of your diminishing vision
Cloaked in the darkness of a starless night
Wielding a shining blade of no flaw stained
in crimson blood and lurid memories
That plays macabre berceuses in your
Deepest nightmares

A Grim Reaper

They hunt by the silver moonlight
In search of wailing souls enclosed
in the freezing iron grasp of death
They imbibe your fading past
Drinking in the elixir of poison and wine
Tasting despair and delight on their slick tongues
Bringing the final judgement
and cutting the binding chains

They are immaculate in divinity
But do not fall to glorious delusions
They are not creatures to be revered
Beings demented with black divinity
They do not sympathize nor pity
They take their victims with a morbid grin
Taking pleasure as your blood washes over the starved ground
And your strangled cries grow weaker
Priests of death
Standing between the contrasting gates of heaven and hell
Your soul is but entertainment