The Far Shore Poem by Michael Pruchnicki
The Far Shore
A rusted barge lies beached
at high tide
on the black sands
of the swampy lake
at Acheron
Fields of faded green
asphodel run to rockstrewn
hills topped by a ridge
of twisted trees
on the horizon
A crowd of shifting shades
indistinct in the gloom
utter sounds that echo
across the water
to one offshore
A dog barks somewhere
and ravens circle overhead
in the murky air
cries of grief
mark the place
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/25/2024 7:42:42 PM # 1.0.0.1119
