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grim reaper

by Peter Humphreys

I am not kind
I am not mean
I brought
the death
of Jimmy Dean
somewhere
east of Eden
for when
heaven calls
I answer swift
I answer slow
with me
there is
no one way
to go
and never
three steps
to heaven
I was there
when Martin died
and Eddie missed
that bend
I was the storm
when Buddy died
and though
a generation
cried
I am happy
in my labour
for o'er
the world
I am
busy kept
for you humans
are
a funny lot
and
gladly seem
to have lost
the plot
for living
with each other
so millions die
and
I wonder why
from down
upon my hill
you people
seem
so fickle
for at home
I long to rest
if only for
a little
and
never be
forever
polishing
my bloody
sickle

03/15/2007

Author's Note: It is estimated that each hour of every day of every week of every year about 1000 people die from hunger or hunger-related conditions on this little planet. So how many did the reaper reap while you sat and read this poem?

Posted on 03/15/2007
Copyright © 2023 Peter Humphreys

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Kristina Woodhill on 03/15/07 at 03:00 PM

A thought provoking poem - I can think of a lot of songs written to the dead "famous" - how many songs have been written and how many times do we remember the daily dying from hunger and other reasons totally preventable by human hands?

Posted by Laura Doom on 03/15/07 at 08:28 PM

I guess it's always been that way on this little planet. I imagine the 'quest' for immortality has taken precedence for those with more than enough bread.

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