The Ferryman

a (heavy metal) Monday morning poem.

‘Death as a Stygian Ferryman;’ Satire from Punch 1858; author unknown.

inside of me
there is a deep 
and interrogating sadness.

it doesn't talk back.
it just whispers,
whirring through the tunnels
and cavities that would hold
the things most precious
and hidden
from the world.

inside of me
there is a deep
and dire cavern.

it cackles in the light
it crisps up the sides
burning oils on the skin
and the nerves underneath
the things most precious
and hidden
from the world.

into it, now,
look.

into it, now,
bear witness.

the void calls;
it shivers
and coils
in reprehension
should you ever
arrive
on time. 

should you ever
arrive
alive.

I am the one you see
at the end
of the line.