At last, the soul has been freed
With nothing left for greed,
It’s taken across the river of Styx,
A ghostly water, which nobody picks
By Charon’s boat, the ferryman of death’s Master
Only the tremble of the soul makes it go faster
With no light to spare
Just dark to stare
And bitter feelings of dread
And lost memory of the dead
Left behind in the pool of Lethe
Looking back at his rotting wreath
He takes a deep breath…
[Was I bad?] I cannot remember…
Or is this.. just a new slumber?
Alas, he goes on, wishing and wishing
But he doesn’t know, what to wish for
Because his mind is blank, and everything is missing
He walks the plank
Towards his judges
Getting cold and feeling shrill with Charon’s nudges
His voice is struck in his throat
Unable to speak…..
He waits for the vote.
With fear in his tender eyes
to be continued!!
This is a poem I wrote in Highschool… unfortunately I never finished it but I will soon iA!