Author: Gareth Coetzee
Dedicated to my grandfather.
The day he passed, he passed his soul to me for safekeeping, for mine was broken.
For the boy who tried,
but could not help losing his heart to a wretched world
And to the heartless lion, who thought with no brain
that the only good he could bring to the world
was to gently ferry
the burdened souls of beleaguered children
along the dark and sullen Styx.
Burning the fabric of his soul so that they may experience warmth
before the inevitable, creeping, eternal chill.
Exhuming little coffins, breathing life into little husks.
Little lives, let go with innocent little whimpers.
Awake my children. The nightmare was but a shadow, and shadows are now nought but friends.
I have met Him at the crossroads and struck a bargain with the night.
Bitter happy communes with the muse are now my fate. An agreed labour. A deal.
My days I shall live out gazing up to the sun, looking to Sisyphus on the hill.
But I too can now relish the eternal burden of a life marred by such eternal forces like Calypso.
The salt of her joyous storms and the tears of joy on my cheeks are one and the same.
We are free.
