He drank from the waters of Lethe, collecting forgetfulness.
Kneeling, with two halves now whole, the waters of old blight
rushed onto his young lips. Dripping down the arms of blissfulness,
fell droplets that bore unequal sums of dark and bright
made for no man to delight.

Without voice, without gestures of any human hope,
the shape of who I presumed to know, beckoned me alone.
A familiar face, of who the world had played their final note
stood there, in full starkness, with a prime never known
to a bolder man ever sown.

There I stood, a guilt-full soul, hoping to speak to the dead.
Across from the waters of which man cannot chose to row,
did he bid me to cross, for there were words to be said.
The earthly flesh, stuck to its dogma, forbid the show,
but ever more did the desire grow.

Conviction condemned rationale; the careless body obeyed
and started the chain. With a willing heart, love would be set loose.
The trinity of fate took heed, for a mortal they were to dissuade.
Hope abandoned the river, reality became obtuse,
for returning home would be abuse.

The undying waters filled my palate, inside they spoke
of pleasures once known to me, wishing to start anew.
Of dreams once known to me, yet each melted in one stroke.
The lost and the dammed watched pitifully, for they knew,
the underworld recruited someone new.