Adrift on the Styx
The silver cord pulls taut and thin,
I leave the aching shell I’m in.
The ceiling fades to starless night,
A sudden breath of weightless white.
The endless quiet soothes the bone,
No heavy breath, no mortal moan.
I float above the fragile glass,
And watch the mortal moments pass.
Adrift upon the shadowed tide,
Where ancient Charon waits to guide.
The water’s still, the mist is deep,
An offering of dreamless sleep.
But through the gray, a lantern burns—
The hand I held, the soul that yearns.
I’ve walked this shore and known the gray,
Where worldly echoes drift away.
There is a presence in this space,
A stillness in the hollow place.
The Ferryman holds out his oar,
He’s seen my weary ghost before.
The peace is vast, the shadows kind,
But I feel the tether left behind.
Adrift upon the shadowed tide,
Where ancient Charon waits to guide.
The water’s still, the mist is deep,
An offering of dreamless sleep.
But through the gray, a lantern burns—
The hand I held, the soul that yearns.
Your voice, a phantom through the veil,
A weeping song, a fragile sail.
To cross the river ends the pain,
But leaving you is bitter rain.
I hold the coin, I look across,
And weigh the quiet against the loss.
I turn my back on the quiet deep.
I choose the waking, I leave the sleep.
I pull the thread through the heavy night,
Away from the ferryman’s fading light.
I take the breath. I take the pain.
I come back to your arms again.