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Challenge of the Month XXXIX
Write a short poem about your own private Hell. The tortured who reigns gets 100 big ones. Winner will be picked by Prose. Go.
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ilyem

Goodbye Acheron

My ferryman greets me at the shore

His hood is down, he doesn’t smile

The water is black, it paints his oar

I know he’s been waiting for a while

As I step on, the boat creaks and sways

The ferryman is silent, but he looks at me

The bodies in the water make for a decrepit maze

On the beach, they gaze from the shore at the sea

I see her standing from amongst the damned

Her face is frozen, a petrified wrath

Her blood drips down onto the sand

As she watches the water mark the ferryman’s path

The skeletons circle around his boat

It's there that they begin to recognize me

But they cannot speak for they have no throat

Their black bones writhe, a mimicry

They grasp and thrash, clawing at my skin

There are no scales, they’ve chosen the sword

A sable skull, one for every sin

The ferryman is silent as I’m pulled overboard