Scared to Death

In my chair alone I sit, as thoughts arise and perturb a bit.
Entering in my solace here, a thought I had of dreaded fear.
My eyes were closed but yet I saw, a sight if seen would frighten all.
'Twas a shadow grim to me, floating by and gravity free.
In his hand a sharpened scythe, to the shadow really blythe.
His guffaw so scary 'twas to me, certainly scary was truly he!

And of he I asked for whom you come? His reply - a gentle hum.
I come for you this shadow said. My job is to collect the living dead.
With my composure waning poor, the reaper leaned against the door.
Enter here with me you will. Place your feet upon this sill.
Stand on this wood threshold, and be whisked into the dreary cold!
Never fear the trip is short – to stand affront the devil's court.

Shaking me so much in fear... facing what is in the mirror.
“Twas me that I was to judge. My soul soiled with evil smudge.
So ashamed of me was certainly I, as I judged me fairly as to die.
It's death I deserve and surely will, but hark the Angel peace be still.
Maybe there be reprieve for me. Perhaps this beggar shall be free!
Shame yields it's face to hope - and not with death I dare elope.