The boatman is a good friend of mine.
He smiles as my feet touch the sinking wood,
A slight, bony smile, intentions to boot,
Inviting me, “Roll the dice, pass the time.”
Such perverse joys I no longer hide,
Light vanishing as we leave behind the world
Of the living. All around the mood
Of death, and dying, and denial.
Corpses, sitting, praying not to reach the other side,
The black shores glistening with pain and regret,
I only take the cup and shake it a while.
On my lips sits a slight, bony smile,
Moments that, while I live, I will not forget,
As the boatman is a good friend of mine.