“Thirteen”

Detached
and lonely,
in the coldest
part of the wood
not far beyond
the twisting river
and gnarled elm tree
is where the old shack stood.
Broken windows
but a locked door.
Black walls
in the dark,
but honestly red
at the core.
Inside
there are things
it does not
want you to see
but we all
see them once…
just not early.

The first is used last
when it’s all done.
It has a few names,
including One.

Two has teeth
just like a saw.
With a restrictive diet,
it only eats raw.

Don’t let the size
bring a sigh of relief,
three steals the skin
just like a thief.

Nestled at your throat,
four, is the kiss
of a lover
you will not miss.

This one has a temper
its wit in steel burning.
Feel the tongue of the fifth,
as the hilt is turning.

The devil himself
even has a favorite scythe.
Just guess which
he borrows to take life.

Seven, jealous, does not
play well with others.
It has tried before
to destroy its sisters and brothers.

Perfect eight,
symmetrical and kind.
The holiest death
that one can find.

Brutal and slow nine
is the oldest among
it will take its time
piercing each lung.

Brightness will avoid
ten’s dark heart.
Ignorant and crass
its not very smart.

Eleven, the slyest
and most intelligent in sin
because there are two
and the blades are twins.

Entitled and fortune born
its rust color will suck
the souls from its victims
every time, given twelve’s luck.

The final is classic,
just long and lean,
and that everyone
makes number thirteen.

Far away
and close all the same.
The sinister shack
waits,
the master
of life’s game.
One of the scythes
each of us will meet.
On the day the reaper comes
who are you going to greet?