There are Shadows of our History,
Floating ghosts that are lost in time.
Forgotten by generations. Playfully, unwilling to remember.
See there? The reaper of death, this image of eternal darkness and fear.
The reaper's tattered black cloak, black as night, black as skin.
The reaper's long sharp scythe, useful for soul taking, useful for plowing.
The reaper's boney hands and feet.
Flesh consuming earth that leaves behind those remains reminding to remember of life and of death.
The reaper in the field,
He could tell you how hard he worked.
Oppressed and scarred he still worked.
The sun blackening his already black skin.
How the m