Waiting For Mr Charon

The pier is a seam of rotting teeth Bearing a queue of perishable cargoes I am waiting for Mr Charon Already he's ferried many dear ones away All night I dream that a tinchel of pitchblack rats Plague ridden, close around me Their needy bites are nibbling at my days I eavesdrop on the conversations of ghosts Mumble to no-one in ear shot, echoes of my journey I have known the slough of despond The weight of guilt and regret For a while I stayed in the house of the interpreter Rested in house beautiful, all too briefly Oftener than I'd have wished, I've squirmed in the vale of humiliation Vanity Fair lost its savour long ago Though by-path meadow's often led me astray Into the home of despair, that doubting castle All the King's Horses and all the King's men Won't put my past in good order again Mr Charon, you're the ferryman to silence Where all the birthday candles are blown out