Death

Death was a tall man,
Skinny and dark,
Scythe in hand,
He made his mark.

Death was a pale man,
White and paper thin,
He was redeemer,
Of lost and broken kin.

Death was a sad man,
He hated taking souls,
But dying seemed to be,
The peoples only goals.

Death was a good man,
Merciful and kind,
He was very skillful,
And sound of mind.

But poor death,
A man of many faces,
Was misunderstood,
The villain in many races.

But I understood,
I saw through his mask,
He hated his job,
That unending sad task.

So I stayed by his side,
I learned of his lore,
So now we are together,
Suffering forevermore.