Charon's Styx

Crimson crowns upon blackened wicks,
burn deep into these frosted eyes,
I fear this heart might carbonize,
for solitude hath left me nix.

Please ferry me on Charon’s Styx,
for this tongue chokes in twisted knots,
and leaves my songs confined to thoughts,
veiled in night’s pitch devoid of day,
stilled by atonal moonlit gray,
that ashens me as color rots.

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I wrote this poem in the form of an espinela.