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.... ;)