Sails of trade brought Shinigami
death gods stridently crawling
across the islands of Japan
an exogenous agent to explain
the decay or feudal morality
The Reaper lives with us as a hood
a ragged robe and knurled hands
darkened by his work as a hard honest plague
apart from the human hands that sew it
forcefully detaching death from our bosom
Apollyon has a rotten job, for an angel
a curse to humanity resulting
from the folly of human character
daily awash in that which is
deadly sin for mortal hands
I bet none of the other angels
will eat with him in the celestial cafeteria
Atop pyramids warriors were given
obsidian wounds to appease the gods
who, hunkered down on their scaly torsos
feathers draped over the clouds
peer at us with sanguine stares
This fear this crime reigns over us
our minds and spirits quaver as
releasing our tenuous grip
on the shadowy things we know
we migrate to an immutable other
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