by Christine Joseph
Greet me, oh fiend of the underworld
embrace my ghoulish countenance
I come to thee
marred of spirit and will
a mere rafter floating in the river Styx
I cannot turn back now,
for the sight of light blinds me
and the warmth I seek lies here
among the outcast souls
Let me taste of the elixir I so greatly desire
I kneel before thee
utterly humbled
awaiting the brittle touch of your fingertips upon my head
in acceptance
do with me as you will
your faithful servant I will be
for all eternity. . . . . . . .