River Of Death

Dark, the mournful river flows
Through silent lands where nothing grows
No breath of wind, the air is still
Along its banks where the lost souls mill

Downstream its bitter waters divide
Around an island, longer by far than wide
For its sanctuary the sorrowing shades are bound
Their final home its comfortless stony ground

The Isle of the Dead is stark and cold
Bleak eternity awaits there, so it is told
No trace of warmth or hope, however brief
Will ease the spectres’ never-ending grief

Yet to reach the Isle is for what they strive
A chance to keep their memories alive
To stave off final oblivion for a while
Until, at last, they too weary of the Isle

Dark and silent, forever onwards flows the river of death
Souls drift towards it on their final breath
They sink into its cold waters, death’s final embrace
The torrent swirls, closes around them, leaving no trace