(Another random poem I wrote for Poem a Day May 2019. I should try doing a month of myth poems. Or collect all my myth based poems for a poem book.)
My job is rather simple.
I stand here all night long.
I keep my trigger finger ready,
because I know what’s hanging out.
Those of us who have died
rest most of the time here,
but occasionally they do arise
creating tons of fear.
My job is to handle that event.
If my friends return to me,
I’m to shoot them down again
until they feel reprieve.
The problem that started this
happened late last year.
Someone disconnected Allah.
Death does not end life anymore.
(Did you play the game yet? Let’s Play a Game! Win a free ecopy.)
(If someone would be in the mind to write this story, I would love to hear it.)