The Reaper’s
Revelation
by Ethan McGuire
To think that we gave them love,
they gave us hate.
The shepherd tried to warn us,
impaled on their blade.
I accept this burden, though I never killed.
They’re my people and I cried,
but I didn't stop them until now.
Tomorrow is too late.
Fog rises in the misty fields where I was born.
The preachers who stay blessing this are sorrowful;
they're torn inside.
My mind's eye conjures wizards white who are foretelling
death's destruction, reconstruction. . . bells all toll
the reaper's knowledge.
The bloody scythe that cut me down caught those against
me.
My body's rising as I die, what do I do?
I'll die in a breath.
My thoughts leap to gain life when I realize
my living corpse is separated, there's the moon.
Tomorrow is too late.
69