I gazed into the mirror as a mime just past his prime,

The Reaper drawing nearer as he counted off my time.

He stood a pace behind me, and he whispered in my ear,

I’m coming to remind you that I’m always waiting here.

His face, completely covered by the shadow of his cowl,

Was hidden as he hovered, but his voice possessed a scowl.

His breath was cold and sour, and it froze me where I stood,

There’s time—you have the power to convert the bad to good.

Stop wasting your potential with regrets of wasted youth,

And seek the existential to unearth your place of truth.

You’ve managed and you’ve mastered all the lies you learned to tell

And claimed yourself a bastard and a burning hound of hell,

But if you raise your spirit to the heights you vie to reach,

The ones who journey near it are the ones your words can teach.

Make good the time you’re granted, or surrender to my scythe;

You’ll find your body planted and your spirit set to writhe

Alone in purgatory, like a phantom damned to roam,

A cautionary story, and a ghost without a home.

But home is where you choose it, and the choice is yours to make,

So use the choice or lose it, to a Reaper sent to take

Your soul into forever with no legacy but shame,

So tidy up and never let them vilify your name.

Consider this your warning, and the only one I’ll give,

And come the bitter morning, rise a better man, and live.

He faded back, then vanished in the blackness of the night

As if impaired and banished by the glare of morning light,

But then I saw a glowing, like a halo round my head,

And knew the seeds were sowing for the living, not the dead.

I looked at my reflection, and observed an inner spark

Illuming my direction like a rainbow in the dark.

I stood up tall and proudly, made a vow to never fall,

Then thanked the Reaper loudly for his timely wake-up call.