The Innocent Queen
Her feet caress the fields in tender bloom,
a daughter crowned with sunlight every day.
The earth was soft, yet it carved her tomb,
a crack in soil, a hand that drew her away.
-
They called it theft, a god's devouring greed,
the story told as a maiden's loss.
Yet myth is split: her choice for the shadowed seed,
where she claimed her crown beneath the moss.
-
For spring returns, but from below,
the flowers rooting in darkness all the same.
Her reign is born where the River Styx does flow,
her voice commanding the underworld by name.
-
She is the blossom and the barren stone,
a captive child, and a queen upon her throne.
About the Creator
Autumn Stew
Words for the ones who survived the fire and stayed to name the ashes.
Where grief becomes ritual and language becomes light.
Survival is just the beginning.
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