The death collector

The death collector

They came from all around to stare,
at the showman plying his trade.
Escaping their homes of cold despair,
sharpening keen the dullen blade.

Something to take a mind astray,
from the focus that they found.
The tiny square just a foot away,
and in its glow they were bound.

Raised high from a place of plenty,
and never having need to wait.
Full their lives but souls are empty,
unfillable the void of open state.

Unsmiling faces of the angry crowd,
believing they hold tight the skills.
Illusion beheld of masses endowed,
limp and alone despite the pills.

Promise of excitement the hook,
to draw upon the blinded prey.
To be hunted in darkened nook,
with all held taken cleanly as pay.

It isn't stolen when it is a given,
when knowing of the infection.
On loaned time loans are driven,
to end comes death collection.

Taraz
[ a Steem original ]