A Reaping

A Reaping

A deep, dark, new-moon cowl

embraces the watching shadow.

As still as the last gasp of breath

trapped in the lungs of the dead,

he stands with hands enfolded.

Smouldering eyes of molten sorrow

search from the midnight gathers

of the Cape of Assembling Doom.

The welcoming hand extends

the imperious skeletal summons

The chime of a bell on the breeze

carries the sigh of a life, receding,

into the bosom of fearful euphoria.

© Catherine Knee