Stygian Kingdom of Woe

He silently sits on his throne made of bone,
down in his Stygian Kingdom of woe.
The river's still flowing, but just where it's going,
no living mortal need ever to know.

His fleshless face locked in an ethereal grin;
he's truly never had much of a voice.
A bony fist rests 'neath his osseous chin—
as he ponders who'll be his next choice.

Perhaps the young girl living just down the lane
who's been contemplating taking her life.
Feeling that death would bring an end to her pain;
an abrupt halt to her troubles and strife.

Or maybe the schoolmarm– now showing some signs–
of a young student who's planted his seed.
Soon just a statistic, a sign of the times,
— of purest lust, poor choices, and need.

It could be a soldier — a family's young son;
yet perhaps, he'll embrace you alone.
Whomever he chooses, when all's said and done,
his icy grip, they'll feel deep in their bones.

Life's far too precious to just throw it away,
it's well worth living; grinning death needn't gloat.
Tomorrow will dawn—usher in a new day.
But they have opted for the Ferryman's boat...

No more consultations, you've nothing to say,
for they've climbed aboard the Ferryman boat.~