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Styx

Charon's oar
    has stirred the 
waters,
    causing a ripple
to dance into
          the void.
      Life support 
machines, pills,
          guns-the
mortal shore 
          is well littered;
    particles dissolve; ideas
rip apart
          at the rivers crest. 
   Precious &
profane voices 
          ring out from 
the mist.
          Charon rows 
his ferry through 
          the black foam; all
the way the 
   Ferryman 
          smiles slightly.

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