Oh, Death

Listen close, for I shall preach
the somber tale of Koen Leach.

Far north among the valley plains
where breeze whispers through the grains,
he and his people, where the cattle roam,
made these farmlands their forever home.

All it took was a lone ember
during the dry month of September;
at the time he was nine years old,
house and home gone in a flame, a fold.

His family never made it out,
though he heard their last shout.
Dying pains and screaming cries
lifted to the heavens’ eyes,
and who to hear but Death alone,
for he came down from his throne.

“With you, Koen, I make a deal
to give you the power to heal,
to bring them back from the dead,
if you yourself sew that thread.”

He trained till the sky turned pale,
and after that, only to fail.

Now, Koen roams the earth,
rejecting his life’s worth,
for Death’s deal had many tolls.

Koen Leach owes him a thousand souls.

View this story's 5 comments.