The dusty dirt rests stale on feet
in search of warmth that Death deafens
while worms maroon upon the shore-
they wait for Death’s beckon.
Onyx water reflected her shore
and sheet for bed: the black of sky-
a world of no sunrise or set
is where I come to die.
I searched around, no light I found-
mistakes cannot be hard to make;
for I belong in Heaven’s clouds
that dark does not reciprocate.
The mist, she curls along the shore
and mocks the air I once could breathe;
No seam from which the sun to rise,
no god for a reprieve.
A shadow of dominion come!
The mist shrouds him in dirt and sky,
the ferryman upon his skiff
from Hell where souls do lie.
Surely he knows the fault at hand,
that here is where I must not go.
My fate destined for someplace else:
above, and not below!
The vessel glides up to the shore,
no sound when she ropes to the dock.
The man onboard, stiff as a sword,
his eyes as pale as chalk.
I must disclose about their gaze:
they shone from the stone skeleton-
a marble gaze, searing unfazed
my gray heart caged within.
You see, I protest sanguinely,
there was a mix-up at the gate.
I am a man of honor true,
there must be some mistake.
Silence, she buzzed her anxious song
and shackles to my feet were bound.
I cried out to my god for help
and dragged along the ground.
Charon forced me into his boat-
his gaze was drawn on my shackles,
while silence buzzed her anxious song,
his smile maniacal.
The screaming, the screaming, oh God!
Please save this heart from tortured mind!
The ferryman cackled at me
as his skiff secured my bind.
He pushed the boat away from earth
and then the dirt, it disappears-
mirrors of tar and us afar-
through the still tears he sheered.
Why, oh why, have you let me die?
No wrong in life did I commit!
The man I killed deserved it sure,
he won a game I didn’t.
The wails and sobs, like sleep’s facades,
pushed me straight down upon my knees
and there befall, of course I saw,
a ghostly hand of pleas!
The hands of prayer appeared onboard
as if the skiff was God’s prairie,
the blackened Styx a coffin fixed
of dreams now stationary.
Faces and arms of ghostly form
grasp at my heart from the abyss,
yet Styx, her river undisturbed
under Death’s final kiss.
No harm did I in killing him,
it was an act of righteous tact-
‘eye for eye’ the saying won’t lie
his win compelled attack.
“The execution of a king”
was what the grieving women cried
when wrong was I strung up in rope
and so unfairly died.
Screams and pleas make pure ears bleed
and ghostly hands torture my knees
and Charon laughs his hollow laugh
at all his hellish deeds.
Then fire! Oh!
The flames erupt on water rough,
the endless stretch of sky and lake,
and from the pit that I now face,
my heart the screams do rake.
Souls moaned the boat towards damning glow,
the flames there rise with dreadful woe.
All that exists are heat and shrieks:
My fate of death unbearable!
© 2017, Annalie Buscarino. All rights reserved.
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