the reaper

The gold descends from the skies
and glints from your glassy, ghostly eyes
You float, growing tall
like cherry blossoms lying sprawled
on the forest floor,
friendly figures lined with gore
A candle with its flame still ablaze 
Psychopomp, wearing the prettiest face.

But there’s a rupture, a breach
You’re within sight but out of reach
Atop the whitest horse,
cutting its head off with no remorse
I’m red-eyed and lukewarm
A sardine stuck in a hailstorm
and your voice, the sweetest lullaby,
the deadliest goodbye.