The Grim Reaper
Is an alcoholic weeper
Searching the earth
For souls lost at birth
He lays his bare knuckle against my door
I welcome him, another sailor washed ashore
He offers a drink which I do not take
I am allergic for goodness sake!
However, I offer him an ear
Everybody needs someone to sit and hear
What he does not know is that I've been to hell and back
I have walked through his abysmal black
I have lived where there is no life
My world tends to be nothing but trife
I feel his pains, as I have felt
I cannot deliver what has been dealt
The Grim reaper has left my home
Left free to wander and roam
He walks out looking like me
Walking around triumphantly
He became me
Before I became bones
Dec 18, 2012
Dec 18, 2012 at 5:12 PM UTC
The Grim Reaper
Is an alcoholic weeper
Searching the earth
For souls lost at birth
He lays his bare knuckle against my door
I welcome him, another sailor washed ashore
He offers a drink which I do not take
I am allergic for goodness sake!
However, I offer him an ear
Everybody needs someone to sit and hear
What he does not know is that I've been to hell and back
I have walked through his abysmal black
I have lived where there is no life
My world tends to be nothing but trife
I feel his pains, as I have felt
I cannot deliver what has been dealt
The Grim reaper has left my home
Left free to wander and roam
He walks out looking like me
Walking around triumphantly
He became me
Before I became bones
A couple of things to comment on this poem. 1) I am legitimately allergic to all kinds of alcohol. 2) If you didn't pick it up, I am the Grim Reaper
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