Fighting The Reaper, Blood On Sheets

Dreaming, blue spits ebon sparks: manifests the tattered soul,
Mournful eyes of ashen dark writhing on The Reaper's pole.
A crucible of pain I saw, and such to shudder men,
And sought to turn away but found that I could not, just then!

The hooded wielder of the scythe was carving up the soul,
As howls of horror pierced my heart and shook The Reaper's Pole
I scream to break my witnessing, "Thanatos, if you dare,
I would challenge for this soul you carve with cursed care!"

The Thing did turn to me and grin a grey and toothy smile,
Imparting sense that he had known my presence all the while,
It pointed slender bony hand to indicate the soul
That all this time was slithering upon The Reaper's Pole

And it was me I saw upon the curved and slender blade,
The shock of recognition through me both at once was made,
I screamed for light to curse the dark, to break the Reaper's Pole,
And woke in bed to find myself within the Reaper's role.