In Hades flows a Stygian river
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of sorrows—a river of great despair!
It's a spiritual death that we all share
that napalms our lives and rots our liver.
Beware! Its undercurrent of dire doom
drowns us with heartless joy—it does not care,
and burdens us with more than we can bear.
We're like cadavers in a cold, stone tomb
from which can be felt and heard the death knell
where heaven is laid waste and God is dead,
as if we’re just a breath away from hell.
Here, where living souls dare not walk or tread,
we are like phantoms—like ghosts in a shell.
Yet, we fear not hell. But despair we dread!
"To have the soul of a poet is to feel with the mind, and to think with the heart."