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.