The Reaper

He came around the corner,

That wearied hooded fiend

Who’d chased me round these many years,

Forever hiding, seen

His sickle sharp, his face obscured,

Yet pondered me, demure

Who’d let me past a thousand times

Now stood with different mind

But oh, this time I knew him,

For years before unknown

The face beneath the hooded grim

Now white as snow it shone

Through scars and thorns

The king who wore

That bleeding Diadem

To silence called me,

wordless spoke,

And granted me

To dine with him.