GRIM'S STORY, CHAPTER 1
He walked across the desert sand
To quench the desire of family's land
He reached the well, he drew the water
But a beast named thirst chose him to slaughter.
He died in the dust, he died in the dirt
He died a death so swift and curt
But no! he had wishes, regrets and dreams
He had to repair the hanging seams
A promise with Lucifer, he dealt
Resurrected from the pain he felt
Born from the sorrow he kept inside
In his heart that hate did hide
Lucifer presented gifts to him
A cloak of black, a name of Grim
A sceptre to kill, to maim and to scare
An evil laugh and a deadly dare
"You," he said, "Are the Reaper of Death,
The one who steals the final breath,
The one who chooses who is mine,
The one upon their flesh who'll dine."
Grim was abhorred as he held his sceptre
How could he do this? He was but a spectre!
Lucifer laughed as he heard this thought
"Because revenge was what you sought!"
He said this with an evil smile
"And you'll have revenge for a very long while,
Lucifer sent Grim on his way
And told him in the shadows to stay
For he is the Owl, the black-feathered Raven
The darkness is his protected haven
A/N: This poem is copyrighted. Anyone who copies this poem and sells it in an effort to make profit for themselves will be sued. You have been warned.