Above: Tom McGuinness ‘Waiting for the Cage’.
Below: Charon the ferryman on the Styx: Gustav Dore illustrates Dante.
It was not right that once you died, you'd have
To wait in line for some old ferryman.
We knew that warped boat from Charon's
Better days, when tiaras and gilded
Men of the church were the best passengers
And tipped like Hell. In this here and democratic
Now, the internal ways seem over slow:
Like some infernal serpent, the Styx's flow
On backward courses feels to go, not on
To gain the prize that Hell will pay for. It's
Okay, after all, for all to desire
Those places their blood made the entitled
Feel that this space "is mine,it's truly fit.
Selfishness, too long in bud, will flower:
And we'll not work for it, not one short hour".
The miners too once waited to become
The weight that seemed to drive cages down shaft
Whose rising pressure seemed to want to crush
Them into a ball of human bone, flesh
And gore: but mainly wanted to exploit
Their labour, drawing surplus out from its
Innards.
That pit's too dark to venture down right now.
It drains me out whilst my cage closes in.
McGuinness drew a shaft that men waited
With patience for. Their eyes turned in to miss
Ascending ghouls silently promising
Their thin lips would fill with blood, them to kiss.
Even Charon felt that his penny must wait
Before the popes he ferried, learned not to hate
Now we mine deeper than we should, and yet
Stay on the surface to place our last bet.
All my love
Steven xxxxxxx
Steve_Bamlett_blog 