Walking along the silent river, Styx.
While it boils and mix; its waters, pitch.
The air thick with malcontent and malice;
Bitterness drunk, as if from a golden chalice.
Walking, stalking there, the anguished\'s keeper;
Cloaked in deepest night, purgatory\'s reaper.
A silent shepherd of these unforgiven lost.
As the host shrink from its presence of frost.
These abandoned damned, stumble and sieze;
Layments coddled, swaddled, unlived to ease .
Forgotten in thier choice, wretched thier voice;
Bemoaning, groaning, thier demons rejoice.
As failed memories grip, a self-lashing whip.
Flesh, bone and blood to strip, rip, and drip.
To be repeated, festering wounds untreated;
If only life embraced, without regret, completed.