The chariots of fire have long since descended beyond the mountains and into the ash fields of another long night.
The steeds smoulder in the breeze and only the moon offers its solemn company.
He is tired yet restless, filled with hope and desperation and they battle within him against his warring eyelids.
He wonders who hides in the tormented world behind him in the wonderful days of the heroes, but yesterday's heroes' feeble cries seep so easily, like tears, into the noble Styx
What sorrowful sound it makes as it meanders away from him, a black ribbon flowing out away from him, into darker lands with its choked gurgle of unrelinquished despair
He feels as empty and hollow as the stages on which he has performed, and still the caged ones roared in their stubborn defiance and the beasts still clawed at their bars awaiting their daily conquests
Such a soft song begins about him, as the black begins to grey,
Nothing but a murmur of a life once lived and long gone, such a painful reminder of what has long been lost and only just being found again
Strong hands tremble at the oars, cold in his grip like ice
His eyes are fiercely bent on the shoreline, wearily bent on their prize
The spoils of war sit silent, still subdued by the battles unwon, with the water like sibilant serpents, coiling around in her wake
But he knows the sun lies only a moment away and the waters give rise to his faith
And his eternal gratitude must not be plundered by her silence and solitude resting beyond his focussed sight
The music in the night is salvation, but the hope lies but a meter away
And his eyes are beginning to shutter as his hands toil on in their stead
And his head droops in its worn out pride, and immediate mistrust from his heart
He's too far gone to be at risk
And his eyes blinker wide to his passenger, the precious cargo that had gone astray
As his treasure is caught in first sunlight, and she almost manages a smile without pain
Before the gold captures her sigh in the wind, and with his wide eyes caught staring she begins to fade into the waves.
He screams in his fury and outrage, his heart ceasing to care of its woes
But the sad solemn face of his adored, not to see the land of the living again
His weeping is not silenced or stilled when he realises his tears too now sleep in the waters that are dead to the world, a nightmare that mirrors his grace.
