Misanthropy. 

A dream made out of a dream. 

And you thought dreams didn’t exist anymore.

 

 

A tree with no leaves just grew life again.

But it was crooked, it was all wrong. 

Sour, and bitter, at any moment it’d have all been over.

Paths forked, it was a labyrinth.

 

 

No one to be blamed, but the reaper. 

Reaper walked around cutting his bones.

Realized,

The reaper was crowned.

 

 

Going from ghost town to ghost town in that mind.

All that was wanted was to find living creatures again.

The only ones to be found were the monsters. 

Insanity was guaranteed.

 

 

Being followed, being watched.

Can’t go anywhere, without the reaper looking over his shoulder.

Unbearable, fell to his knees on the ground.

The scythe had one more person to reap, and yet, was unable to be reaped; the blade was the prison.

 

 

Ethereal.

The hourglass was filling up with more sand.

Blood finally felt warm.

 

 

The clouds parted ways, and light came down.

The prophesied angel floating.

Lowered her hand, and the reaper stared in disbelief.

Was she here to save the reaper?

 

 

The world in ruins, they climbed mountains together.

Catharsis and cleansing. 

Giving up the crown was entirely possible now.

And yet the reaper knew there was still business.

 

 

Now terrified, dragons being chased again.

Fight fire with fire.

Be one amongst monsters to defeat them all finally.

Suddenly a seed was planted, somewhere.

 

 

Coup de grâce. 

False epilogue, but peace.

Poetic salvation.

 

 

The world is healing. 

The world still has to heal

The world will need to understand; opposition does not cure opposition.

The world is mine and her’s.

 

 

The former reaper appeared and shook my hand.

I have ended this curse.

Still left with battle wounds, I have made it.

True freedom was granted, along with a resting soul.

 

 

Monsters aren’t extinct, but we now know a better way to deal with them.

We can all do this.

We can be the heroes of the generation.

We can save the world.

Come with me, let’s take a stroll.

 

 

Let’s walk through the path of development, and time travel.

Point at the memories;

notice the keys that led us here.

While you have the lingering question.

What if I’m a poet?