NaPoWriMo: Day 12

Charon

I am the boatman

Dear traveler, waylaid
On your journey,
Step up, step up
Take my hand

I am the boatman

Wrapped in rags
Of sorrow,
Eyes of gelid fire
Limbs of sinewy ropes

An obol for the boatman

One more coin to
Toss into the river
Plucked from the mouth of
Another soul

I am the boatman

Cursed by fate
To pole the dead
Across the dark river
Made of their ephemeral brethren

I am the boatman

Never to gain either shore
Or the fields of torment
Or the halls of pleasure
Ever drifting

I am the boatman

Do not fear, errant
Travelers of
Flesh, blood, and bone,
When you meet the boatman

You’re already gone.