Reaper Of Life

My black robe, around my feet, does fall.
The blade of my scythe stretches so tall.
Blood streaks from its sharp edge.
As I stare out from a high very ledge,
Out at the world I cannot take part in.
Taking those who are pure and those who have sin.
I grieve in my very own seclusion,
But I suffer absolutely no delusion.
This is my fate, forever more.
Stuck in this "life" of blood and gore.
Forced to watch their loved ones weep and cry.
As I await them to let go of life and die.
What have I done to deserve this curse.
Emblazoned with scythe and by a Hurst.
I have all the time to delve this deeper.
For let it be known, I am the Reaper.