The Harbinger has lived too long.
Grim Reaper raps his nails against the counter,
Waiting impatiently for the day she falls;
Waiting for the day when the harbinger of death, herself, surrenders to him.
For years, he had lurked.
But death, to the Harbinger, was not coveted any longer.
She had been there once before,
Begging on her knees for him to take her.
Grim Reaper scowled to himself,
As he recalled those seconds of time.
To her disappointment, he turned her into the thing she had become.
She did not want to be given a purpose.
She wanted an end.
But he left her there, with nothing but herself and shadows.
The Harbinger now sneers at him through passing seconds in time,
Roaming throughout his Kingdom in between the darkness.
Knowing that what he wants, he cannot have.
Oh, how the tables have turned.
- Even Death cannot erase people like us.
YOU ARE READING
From the Depths
PoetryA collection of original written word from the heart describing things felt or thought in real situations. I hope you enjoy the read - who knows what will come of it. #wattys2019
