It flowed through his mind constantly
Whispering things like “Just do it Seth”.
The not sensed lurking of the raw, rancid, rotting flesh of The Reaper.
Seth was picked on by many,
And unknowingly the words that were said went much deeper.
As he strode through the soundless street to the strong oak tree
The wind blew hard and with a whoosh made the trees whisper.
They said aloud what ran through his mind: “Why me?”
The tree near the lake looked more frightening the longer he walked towards it.
Rope in his bag, chair in his hand.
He set up his equipment and got in place, but in the chair he did not sit.
The Reaper lurked lonesomely in the shadows, lying in wait.
The branch seemed one thousand feet away as Seth secured the noose.
He stood on the chair and replayed what everyone had said.
He had the rope tightly wrapped ‘round his neck, but second thought the idea he picked,
But it was too late now as he helplessly squirmed,
And then with a thud he kicked.
A joy filled smile spread across the now jolly Reaper’s face and he jumped.
Was it fate or chance that the boy had died?
Many people asked, but no one could change that by the huge oak Seth’s body there slumped.
Jessika V. (2011)
Work Cited:
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