DESCENT OF PERSEPHONE
I have not given you the right
To be perfect
My Axe of Ice will chisel your features
To my liking
We will start by dripping out
All of the color
And the plumpness must wither
The green must shrivel
Until only stunted gray remains.
I have not given you the right
To mimic the living
My Axe of Ice requires only ghosts
To sing of its sharpness
Dissolve, then, and tell them
Of the solace of the shadows
Sit now beside my throne, Lady
Don my Ring of Ice
Upon your bony finger.
I have not given you the right
To be Queen
It is something you have taken
A draught in icy measure
How much more perfect then
The world of the unseen
The glittering gems of Hades
With the Queen of Darkness
Accomplice to His wintry heart.
 |
| Persephone descends. |
