Remnants

my attempt at surreal poetry

Their eyes watched the sun slip away.
Fading then vanishing,
and finally only traces of thoughts remained
in a place they too would someday sleep.

The man in the moon kept watch
of these souls,
who flooded the river, Styx
trading currency for torment


and they washed ashore
all but forgotten ghosts:
slaves to unborn dreams
they could not hush.

Burnt to ash and blown away
yet still their cries
could not be stifled

But only the deaf could hear their calls
and even the blind turned away
in infinite disgust…


These are the whims of the damned
who sought the sun
and quivered in moonlight
cleansed in crimson lakes.