Monday, March 22, 2010

Where the river runs

Gazing into the sanctuary
Where the night's edge falls
A chasm of ebony
...a river...of listless souls
Milling in the bank of Charon's fare
I tumble blindly under the boatman's stare
Hark now and in step you shall be
Never again the light you shall see
The beauty..the life you left  for me


  1. this poem resonates death and some distant places where darkness pervade. gloomy.

    nice poem, wilde.

  2. Ei thanks Hames...guess gloom sometimes has its upside :-) Cheers!