The Reaper

The Reaper...
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His arms creased straight,
Each Finger outstretched,
Desperate for Solace's grasp,
Still thru Icy nothing,
Those Fingers finish Closing,
As his breath fights for its last gasp...
His body strong,
His mind steadfast,
Death has Not his Will yet,
But for her Estrangement,
And Forlorn engagement,
The Reaper and him should have met...
Its the First and my last,
Claim those that have alas,
Not Fathomed a depth of regret,
Still what goes around,
Returns unbound,
When the Reaper hangs up his hat...
It is for which,
The Strange soul persists,
Seeking Song, in rhythmic Duet,
Yet truth be told,
Most melodies are cold,
Much like the Reaper's Silhouette...

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What is this poem about? lol The blank page knows.... ;)

The Blank Page..

A blank page, is a magnificent thing, Serving me so well throughout the years, as far back as i can remember. It was the one place where i have often found myself free, unbound and empowered.

The blank page has graciously harbored my fugitive thoughts time and time again; bored in class, on the bus, even during those pointless O levels, it has provided me with an outlet that is ill-replaced by any other means. It is when I am most comfortable, my emotions dancing on the page in the form of script, careless, like nymphs on a meadow. It is with a blank page, that i have shared my most intimate thoughts, my fears, my dreams and my ideas.

On a blank page, i have played God, writing stories of lives that had not lived till i penned them into existence. The page, and i, a marriage, birthing like Cane and Abel, words of inspiration and desolation, Humour and sorrow, of Love and its painful void.

The Blank Page, a simple manifestation of infinity, one who's secrets are endless, ever present, and always revealed with the simplest question. The Blank page, my friend, my counselor, my Legacy...

IF......

If
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If every argument can be won by the presence of inebriation,
Leave debate in the wake of sobriety,
If every opinion is ill defended by its beneficiary,
Leave Cause in the Wake of Cowardice,
If Belief is the victim of Tenure,
Leave morals in the wake of Comfort,
If Every person is to be the sum of anothers' mistakes,
Leave ambition in the wake of Failure...
If you believe in the follies of others,
Leave Life in the Wake of inabilty,
If the man was Named by my Mother,
Leave Sobriety, Cowardice, failure, comfort and Inability,
In the wake of My Self...

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When someone validates themselves by society's singularities, this poem is JUST COOL!