The sepulchral stench of Hades lingers
As the goddess remembers her way home
The pale anguish of frostbitten fingers
Is sunned illegible, like a baked tome
Cold catatonia blinks and smells the air
Persephone wakes each life with its name
Fresh blossoms compete to adorn her hair
Spring's green moves are familiar, not the same
Feel inertia melt into warm music
Conduct the orchestra of thawing ice
The goddess rubs each cell with soft magic
To the muddy soup, she adds piquant spice
Her patience teaches thawing limbs to dance
Rousing life from its pallid, sluggish trance
About the Creator
D. J. Reddall
I write because my time is limited and my imagination is not.
Enjoyed the story? Support the Creator.
Subscribe for free to receive all their stories in your feed. You could also become a paid subscriber, letting them know you appreciate their work.
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.