This for my old man.

The man was burned.
He stood as his father once did.
Remembered pain ripped into his ribcage.
He was baptized in the river Styx,
and his life held in the balance.

The lullaby he sang his son tilled his ears.
Under the harvest moon again talking to himself.
Whispering lies to himself.
He was baptized in the river Styx,
and his mind held on a tightrope.

The buried horse-master's words still hung on his throat.
"Older than the trees, younger than the mountains,
and still gripping the reigns without a pulse."
He was baptized in the river Styx,
and his son's life depended on him.

The black water before him fogged and all.
His broken frame upright and angry.
His heavy eyes laid to rest
He was baptized in the river Styx,
and his life was given purpose.