Poem #29: Don't Fear The Reaper

Shifting winds berate my little raft

as I swell along the sea.

I smell the rain on the cloudless air

and feel the horizon calling to me.

Sailors sing in my ears

as their vessels sink beneath the waves

and I smile as their ghosts dance,

their feet not touching the water’s surface.

A storm trips toward me under the sky,

low and dark and speaking in tongues.

It thrills the depths of my soul.

It sends the dead spinning into almond lights

and I feel their intoxicating fear.

Dead once, they won’t die again.

But me, I am not dead

and the fear of death does not drive me away

as it did the pale sailors.

Instead I rush headlong into the turbulence

with only my heart to guide me.

The damned scream but I do not falter.

My path is clear though the way is dark

and fraught with dangers

as the clouds roll in.

I can see what will happen

in that rain of lightning and that crack of thunder.

I see myself and my little raft,

so very small and fragile in the strong winds,

capsizing and disappearing

beneath crazed white sheets.

I see my life disperse under the water,

tendrils of light snaking from my chest and mouth

and vanishing in the dark abyss.

But I do not look upon this scene with fear.

The reaper comes to collect us all

one by one

and today it is my turn to fall into his arms.

The sailors sense my ridiculous elation

and slowly, hesitantly, they materialise in the mist

and their voices rise above the thunder

from a low murmur to a triumphant roar.

The choir sings out in a symphony of sound

and I laugh in the face of certain death.

We fly together over the rocky water

towards that which will let me join them

and I know that,

no matter the pain and suffering that is to come,

I will not die alone.