Driftwood On the Styx
Three misfits sought mischief along serenity shore
when a boatman slashed through the bluing mist
with driftwood oars honed by a river called Styx.
They were wild and naive and looked quite aghast
for boatmen usually gather the worn and the weak
but the misfits were young and strong as teak trees.
The boatman anchored a skull and clawed up the bank
three clocks ridden by ravens appeared in the sky
the misfits ran amok when their time finally arrived.
The boatman sat in a dark crag and fingered them near
the mischievous three pleaded in gossamer tongues
but death is beyond stone deaf and heard not a one.
The boatman did show his heart, but of Sulphur it smelled
gently placing each misfit in a boat made of flesh and bone
vultures hopped the damned in their new dead water home.
Copyright © Anthony Biaanco | Year Posted 2018
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment