Death's Minions

They sit in shadowy fields
on waving grey grasses
with oily blades
rustlings of unspeakable beneath
the knotted dead reeds

they look towards the hamlet
on sloppy hillocks afar
listening for wails of grief
when death harvest
the drooping sheaves

then they come with scissors
silver reflecting the moon
to cut the cord of spirits
from empty human coils
for souls to God they leave

these spirits they harvest
spirits of good and evil
to work their way around
in dark shadowy realms
for dreamscapes and nightmares

for moments in the night
for changes of scenes
for hopes through omens
and fear through phantasms
with these they to humans bestow.