Needless Things: Ringed Winger Reapers Flight

Through ash-lit skies the reapers soar, With burning halos they implore, A thousand wings in spectral night, Command the void, ignite the fight.

Their rings are forged of mournful flame, Each bearing death, each carved with name, A choir of silence, sharp and dire, Feathers drip oil, sparks of fire.

They circle moons where shadows weep, They hunt the hearts that dare to sleep, Their talons carve the stars in two, The orbit bends beneath their crew.

Ringed wingers fly where mortals dread, They crown the living, kiss the dead, And in their flight the truth is shown: No soul ascends—it’s theirs alone. NNN