Walking to work today I had to stop to catch my breath because of pains in my chest. This started me thinking “What if..”  This poem is the result of those musings.

The Stygian Maiden

A maiden sits upon a bank,
Midst flowers near a stream.
I know this place I’ve seen her here,
But that was just a dream.

How can it be I see her now?
When last I do recall;
I was at work my boring job,
Some boring conference call.

Did I doze off again at work?
My boss will have a fit,
But I don’t care since I am here,
I’ll make the best of it.

I look at her as she sits there,
So peaceful and so still.
I wish that I could see her face,
Somehow don’t think I will.

The clouds now swallow up the sun,
The sky turns dark and grey.
Excitement’s gone with fear replaced,
She starts to turn my way,

Her dress and hair merge into one,
A robe of deepest black.
There is no face beneath the hood,
A scythe across her back.

She reaches out a bony hand,
Plucks two coins from my fist.
She doesn’t speak but gestures to,
A boat there in the mist.

I know her now this maiden dark,
It all comes back to me.
The sudden pain, the falling down,
My God! This cannot be!

But she had come to warn me then,
With my first heart attack.
That if I did not change my ways,
Quite soon she would be back.

I do not want to cross the stream,
But I am in the boat.
I want to stay but cannot change,
The fate my own hand wrote.

Cheers, Winston