> A word with the Ferryman

A word with the Ferryman

Par |2018-08-16T12:09:28+00:00 16 novembre 2014|Catégories : Blog|

 

The oar cut the waters of the Styx,
Upon the wai­ling souls, my eyes trans­fix,
Too wea­ry of lamen­ting their deeds,
And year­ning for their prayer beads.

Gloomier than the dar­kest of nights,
Was the cowl over his head,
An obo­lus was all he desi­red,
For a pas­sage into the world, ahead.

Upon the dis­mal shore of Acheron,
The dam­ned souls were moa­ning,
Denied a sound inhu­ma­tion,
Charon rowed on, demea­ning, condo­ning.

A night­mare 'twas, mas­ked in repent,
Apollo's grief and Aurora's lament,
Disconsolate was the voice which spoke,
For I heard the word of Charon,
That which lay in the laby­rinths, I did invoke.
 

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