Literature
Grim
he roams the cemetery
bony fingers tapping over headstones,
they tell him where he is,
where he needs to go,
whose soul to take next.
There is no one here yet
Master, please rest
one says
others ignore him
whispering, anticipating, demanding
Break, Break, Break
Fog thickens,
Choke, Choke, Choke
and,
then,
disperses.
the dead are silenced
as his grip loosens on the scythe,
his head lowers
he has gone to sleep
