I, awe at the scythe in Death�s hand. A scythe made from the bones and souls he reaps. The scythe standing dark and gloomy in his hand. The blade coated with the ooze of the last soul he reaped. It whooshes through the air at the next person who died. So I, awe again as I see the black pole and the glint of silver from the blade. It looks so menacing in the hands of Death. Then I feel it as it is inserted into my body, But it is not evil and cold leaving me wishing it was removed. It is good and warm as it frees me from my fleshy existence. Then I see it again, but this time it�s not dark and gloomy, nor made up of a black pole with a silver blade. No, this time I see it bright and peaceful made up of a pearl handle and a gold blade, And this is the last time I see it, not as an evil thing, but as a release. Then I smile as it vanishes and I know it is going to release another soul.

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