A/N: Mythologic poem from my Techniques of Poetry class back in 2015.
Torch Against Wall
Limbo with ten cents less than needed to cross Styx's high tide;
Charon thinks me shameful.
Dante did not warn me about this,
did not note the fumes coursing bodies inside,
_Only the stench exterior.
_Terror does have an odor, doesn't it.
An hourglass of eyeballs and
a permanent pen.
Minos, Rhadamanthus, and Aeacus at a plastic table.
I overturn the hourglass,
but Minos still sees.
A/N: I always really loved this poem (as did my professor, esteemed poet Dana Levin - y'know, not to brag) but alas, it's proved too niche for formal publication :(