The Oarsman

The Oarsman
.
In silent waters in a river of no hope
The oars create not even a ripple
With a man of bones -- with scythe -- with robe
Cloaking his impassive -- broken soul
From I -- his passenger.
.
Pushing -- pulling -- repeatedly, forever
No emotion escapes -- his empty orbits
While rowing away from daylight's door
Lost in this land of bleakness -- to Haydes
With I -- his passenger.
.
It is cold here -- no sound -- one light, fading behind
A life told with a tongue unowned -- a quasi-essence
He rows amongst death in a defeated imposition
Upon this black mirror of tortured souls
As I am -- his passenger.
.
When the oars lift, at last -- bone fingers point -- to limbo
Drifting to nowhere -- a pebbled beach, slides underneath
Of Pluto's raft as he gazes -- pitying our souls
Leaving the boat -- the oars with I, gone with Death
Though not I -- for I am Charon.
...
...
Michael Fuller
May 20, 2015