Stealing of Souls

In ancient times it once was said the mighty Acheron still flowed to link the river of the dead, a void to Hades dark abode where Charon’s eerie ferry plied the oily Styx’s sacred waters wide. Afloat within fuliginous dream, beneath the Abzu sea adrift, on isle where orphaned shadows scream out from perpetual rainbow mist, there is a hidden nether place that you and I may not this life embrace. From ghostly forest rank and dark where mythic creatures lurk and prey, phlegrean mountain rises stark above the marshes of decay. Beneath a sunless yellow sky fierce dragons hunt and fallen angels cry. A barque with midnight sail full set sweeps wraithlike from the swirling mist, no mortal walks her creaking deck or breeze has white webbed rigging kissed, she mutely luffs to pseudo moon, with silver rippling wake on grey lagoon. Swinging lamp from crescent stern reveals the battened pennant’s flare no helmsman clasps the rudder firm as serpine maidenhead’s red stare guides true the ship to destined fix, her fateful rendezvous upon the Styx. A blue skinned girl, in mortal guise aloof the cove on bluff above full ruby lips and limpid eyes, sweet Persephone beside her love, her silver beast, with twisted horn gaze over darkened lake this nether-dawn. They watch the Gorl with ferry fast, where Kur and Charon deal and play, the bets are placed, the die is cast, and soon the ship is soft aweigh, ten thousand souls betrayed confined, in laden hold, eternal slaves, consigned. A fading cipher through the mist the ship departs with dipping oars, her scaly master’s spectral grist to ply his trade on earthly shores. Smug Ferryman, now landward poles, with fatted purse, returns to trick more souls . The Gorl