The River Styx

Still travelling along this gushing river

With white foam around the paddle

The brown teeth of the ferryman 

Makes me shiver.

I thought I could bribe him

With a coin or two.

What a fool I am

He would not even accept a limb.

The ferryman is not busy with science

Or trading.

But he toils

Where he has endless clients.

Now him and me are the only travellers.

Forward the only destination,

Bobbing on this wooden boat,

No time for small-talk or revilers.

Above us the sky's expanse is a calming blue

Reflecting into the water below,

Making it like smelted sand.

Yet I want to jump to stage a coup.

As I have been stuck on the river for years aplenty,

Since I was a babe

And growing up.

It feels like a year or seventy.

The paddler has thick bulky legs

Like trunks of a mature plane tree.

Thick arms and a wide body.

Bulgy eyes as the top of bronze pegs.

I feel a sudden jolt

As the ferryman changes course

And we approach the riverside to the right

As quick as a bolt

Here the sky is still blue and the sun shines on our flesh,

       The air is clean with the smell of an orchard.

        At the mouth of a stream I find a small pool

With cupped hands sweet water so fresh.

              The ground carpeted in lush grass so soft

                           Through my fingers glides.

                       I see rolling hills and waterfalls

People keeping their smiling youthful face vigorously aloft.

     Through virtue and deeds 

Have I made it to this idyllic place.

     To stay is my ultimate wish

      On thoughts of this my mind feeds.

Before I could disembark onto that land of beauty,

The ferryman pulled me back into that horrid boat

As he pulled us away from the pleasurable garden.

But I knew he was just performing his duty.

I do not know if it was hours, days or weeks that passed

Until we changed course again.

I longed for the pleasurable garden

To get there fast.

Oh no, The tragedy!

We are heading to the other side

Swerving and determined

I am taking in the gravity

Of where we are

This stench of a place

The sun behind grim stratus clouds

Caves and caverns afar

No sign of animal life

Just buildings charred by smoke

But I observe a few humans

Looking hollow in this place of strife

I think of what I had recently done

A lapse in virtue

My self-control tossed to the 'sharks'.

To no place could I run

And here I was

Dropped off onto these plains of mud

My mistakes haunting me by night

All because

Of my decayed morals

Of which I am so sorry

To stay here I deserve

Sin was the 'crossbow and quarrel'

I feel low and undeserving

Of any recompense.

Deformed and disfigured

I am, beyond conserving.

In such a dark place

The ferryman took my arm

And pulled me back

Into the boat with no expression on his face

"You are going to the beauteous land

For your heartfelt laments,"

The ferryman said.

We turned sharply to cross the River Styx

My mind feeling now elevated

And spinning in glee

The ferryman showing no tricks

We arrived on that blessed land

Where I in the grassy dune so fervently rolled

And cried up to the sky:

"Thank you my Lord!"

And then laid in the warm sand.