Charon harvests life to a world Of billowing sails, silence and fog, Unveiling a new journey into unknown terrains Where souls meander through time and space.
There is relief in the rhythm of his oars Dipping in the waters of the River Styx. Tall beacons light the pathways Crossing the ancient landscapes.
Stitch by painful stich, the living are left Trying to sew some shape to their pain, As the heart hemorrhages into a crimson emptiness, Questioning its own mortality.
(First published on South Seattle Emerald)