DOTLAN EveMaps

His scythe scrapes the ground as it drags,

a flash of silver under black emptiness.

He knows exactly where he is going,

and he never needs a map.

His thoughts contain a memorized list that grows by the hour,

but he evens it out just as quickly.

He steals lives for a living,

but souls he cannot take.

He has no soul and nor can understand remorse or sadness,

so no good comes of pleas or cries for mercy.

He is capable of very little emotion,

only brief pride and enjoyment of the lives lost by his hand.

Crippled and gnarled, he walks on,

here to roam for all eternity.

He has all the control, yet none,

as he is cursed to this work until the end of time.

Most times he enjoys his work,

and thinks of clever and crafty ways to carry it out.

Other times he longs for a break,

a break that will never come.

And so forever and ever more he will walk the earth,

his scythe scraping along as he seeks out his next.