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The Scythes Curse/Gift
Project type
Poem
Date
Aug 11th
The man with the white cane or the black robes and scythe is very fickle.
Time must seem so strenuous to him for he was there before everything began or maybe it passes quicker than a drop causing a ripple.
But he has seemed to lay his hand on my shoulder more times than i can count giving me a chance to allow souls to nimble.
Curses me still by placing those souls in my dreams viewed to me as an impression on my hand as a sickle.
Gifted me though as well allowing my right hand to place and hold my dying wife's hand the power of the scythe to guide and clear heavens wheat thistles.
I do not know if he does this for all or maybe just those, he feels need to experience it, hell maybe this is his version of making death simple.
I still love it and hate it at the same time for this curse/gift allows from time to time that smile and those beautiful dimples in reflection of my tears that trickle.