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SPIRIT
Senior Member
since 2002-12-29
Posts 1745
California Desert

0 posted 2003-08-16 09:32 PM


THE MESSENGER

Loudly he thundered cross the sprawling plain,
A figure in black on his Midnight horse.
He was on an errand... a soul to claim,
To make his time he must ride hard his course.

Always invisible, he was ne’er seen
Though he was heard and felt by those around.
Where was he going or where had he been?
They followed the hoof prints tracked in the ground.

They led to the town of Immensely Poor,
Where loudly they heard a newborn’s cry.
The tracks ended at the young blacksmith’s door
So they knew in that home someone would die.

He tethered his horse to a hitching post,
And walked through the wall and into the room.
The old mid-wife sensed him, knew of this ghost
Around her head settled foreboding gloom.

He was here for someone...who could it be?
The baby boy, though small, appeared just fine,
So what was so wrong, what couldn’t she see?
The mother was not in any decline.

Suddenly from the bed...a moan was heard,
‘Something’s not right’ the young mother cried out.
The mid-wife was quick, by fear she was spurred,
‘More clean rags’, to the young man she did shout.

‘Oh Lord! I see now why you sent him here,’
She placed her hands into the woman’s womb
‘Please don’t let me show these people my fear,’
Thus she pulled a babe from its earthly tomb.

I fear that this young babe... she is born dead,
The young man and his wife just stared and cried,
Whilst with gentle finger she crossed its head.
The Messenger watched, his form dignified.

‘Come! Little one,’ and he swooped up the soul,
As usual he had arrived just in time.
‘We must go to where you will be made whole,’
Then left the room... on the horse he did climb.

He quickly left once a body had died,
They heard him leave, saw the tracks in the ground,
‘Leave Messenger of Death,’ they loudly cried,
His presence would always them so astound.

They dashed the plains and leapt the stream,
He was not what they thought; their words did smart.
In the morrow he would be but their dream,
His precious pack he held tight to his heart.

The stars lit the pathway so he could see,
Midnight leapt onto it to climb the sky.
Here the wee soul would be happy and free,
And would be welcomed by the fold on high.

The Messenger of Death should not be our foe,
For sooner or later we all have to go.

[This message has been edited by SPIRIT (08-16-2003 09:36 PM).]

© Copyright 2003 das - All Rights Reserved
Joyce Johnson
Deputy Moderator 1 TourDeputy Moderator 1 Tour
Member Rara Avis
since 2001-03-10
Posts 9912
Washington State
1 posted 2003-08-16 11:14 PM


Interesting tale.  Oh how we don't want him to darken our door.  Love, Joyce
cusick
Senior Member
since 2003-07-27
Posts 668

2 posted 2003-08-17 07:27 AM


Spirit this is very impressive, another way to describe the grim reaper.A very good read.
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