13800
Death is all around us; nowadays it's not a perk,
for you but see for me it means I'm never out of work,
it's coming on my busy season; summertime and all,
y'all fools be doin' stupid stuff which means it's time to fall.
Don't think I need an introduction; y'all remember me,
the one who turns the livest cat into a memory,
I guess my name's The Reaper but don't ever call me grim,
I rock a hoodie in the warmest weather; tall and slim's,
my body type; I ride at night and even during day,
the Bill Of Services I send is one that's surely paid,
by everybody breathing; if you see me then you've stopped,
I only show up when my boss decides to end your clock.
I know I've said this all before just using different ways,
my job is kind of weird like that; there're truly different days,
from grown-ups down to babies; no two people are the same,
it's sad to say; this thing called life is really all a game.
Like one time in particular three boys were strapped with percs,
and selling them with other things next to a Baptist Church,
now most of y'all think God's not vengeful; best believe He is,
I got the call because that time was coming for these kids.
I stood right there amongst them as they peddled weed and crack,
The Boss's name in vain; all "godd@mn" this and "Jesus" that,
it made me somewhat nauseous how these young Black boys could cuss,
but they'd be soon to realize how a young Black boy gets touched.
See unbeknownst to all of them; parked on a dark back street,
were thugs who smelled blood in the water but these sharks packed heat,
the driver sat there stone-faced with two men in the back seat,
they all had loaded Mac 11s down for blastin' peeps.
The boys had been warned weeks ago to stay from off that strip,
and they just disregarded it 'cause they were off that sh!t,
all high from just what they supplied to fill a coffin quick,
completely unaware that they were being targeted.
The afternoon was one that I had come to know too well,
you know how things are quiet right before they're blown to Hell?
I saw what was to happen; yeah these boys gon' learn today,
it's not my job to teach 'em but it's time to earn my pay.
The car came creeping slowly like a turtle up the Ave.,
the young'ns weren't watching as they flirted up some @ss,
in retrospect I bet those boys wish that the cops came out,
a split second of silence; and that's when the shots rang out.
The freaks ducked down and jetted from the h3lla hot ones sprayed,
them Mac 11s sounded like a helicopter blade,
the tat-tat-tat-tat-tat sound filled the air like oxygen,
but bullets have no names so other folks were droppin' then.
A lady with a shopping bag took two square in the head,
she didn't know what hit her; open eyes there in the dead,
the gunmen paused to redirect the ire of those toys,
that weren't to be played with as they fired on those boys.
Projectiles tore through two boys' chests and left a bloody mess,
I've always been amazed at what a bullet does to flesh,
two carcasses conveyed the aftermath of what was left,
the third boy on the ground still breathing (barely); name of Wes.
His two friends were Rapheek and Wayne; to grade school they went back,
the tender age of twelve is when they started slangin' crack,
then graduated gradually to brown girl, pills, and caine,
he saw me standing there when he no longer feels the pain.
The look that's in his eyes is fear; Wes knows he's gonna fly,
with me into oblivion; Wes knows he's gonna die,
but death is not what scares him; shallow breathing tearfully,
what overrides his thoughts of dying? He's in fear of me.
"It doesn't hurt," He whispered. "And I know just who you are,"
"That's good," I answered back. "Because we're going truly far,
away from everything you've known; it'll seem a little grim,
but where I'm taking you dear boy you'll get to live again."
His eyes began to flutter at a rapid pace as well,
before he up and asked me, "Am I going straight to H3ll?"
I shrugged my shoulders with the truth, "Young man I just don't know,
it's really not my place to speculate; we're just gon' go."
I grabbed hold of his essence and we bolted; straightaway,
but not before his last question, "Is it too late to pray?"
I almost laughed but told him that it never is too late,
he'll find out soon enough that H3ll and Heaven ain't a place.
It's how you go through mortal life; your heart and state of mind,
the ways that you were living when you leave this place behind,
it's not my job to tell him though; some things can't be explained,
your actions either lift you up or help to feed the flames.
I find I think about that day from time to time; it hits,
me when I least expect it to like on these kinds of trips,
with so called sinners trying to make it right before they leave,
too bad it takes them traveling with death 'til they believe.
©2017
The Cunning Linguist
