Hear me oh reaper for my end draws near, the window that is my life draws to a close, by being born I have accepted this, and now I forever smell the black rose. My heart though it no longer beats yearns for life anew, as I fall through the void, my mind is torn askew, as all I would ever know or not know dwells within it and my own memories are taken and stored as I end and begin again. The Reaper is a generous man but even he must pay his debts, our souls are the money that he is sent to collect. We owe him our lives as we all sign the contract of our death when we are born, when he comes to claim us we should welcome him with open arms, for he will in turn guide us to the land of the dead, where all that we have sowed in life awaits us, be it damnation or blessing. Let us cross the threshold of life, and continue on to death, for the darkness of the night be-eth written on our heads, the bounty of our soul, covers the sins we all have led. Let us die and live to die again another day gone by, the cries of death assault the ears of living ones nearby. Reaper, reaper, can it be that you have given me a rose, Black like the night and green like the trees that grow, you tell me to take it to my love and that we both shall live again, I thank him ever gratefully and so she does the same. We hold each other through the void, the rose begins to wilt, we kiss and then part ways, and the world begins to tilt. Reaper oh reaper, your rose is your gift, that which feeds off of our death, the black rose mirrors beauty eternal as does the heart of hero. Your rose wilts of it’s own accord to blossom again in the moment of our death, but though our bodies may wither and fade away, our souls shall be carried on through night and day, and day and night to find our inner peace, our road is long but comes to an end as all things sometime must cease.
August 17, 2008