Final Destination

He waits in the shadows as the
Clouds of crimson turn to black
His blade glints blindly as the
Silver moon replaces the blazing sun
The next unaware victim in his
Unavoidable design he seeks
Slithering over the cold earth
He creates a trail of decay and rot
Killing all he touches as if he were poison
He raises his immense sickle in the air
Slamming it back down in front of his prey
As the pale blue life is extracted
Into the base of the scythe
The body falls limp
The corpse turns white
He watches as another soul flies to
Their Final Destination