Queen of Spring

Persephone ran through the ravine,

Hair of molten bronze trailing after her.

Eyes glittering with liquid aquamarine,

Crimson liquid staining her sage slipper.

The winds were her sleeves,

The grass her stockings, 

The leaves her veil.

Persephone ran,

A trail of violets and lilies appearing where she stepped,

Sun-kissed skin, the colour of the earth

Shone in the moonlight.

She ran towards the edge of the valley,

Ran towards the pomegranate trees.

She stumbled over their roots,

Her blood the colour of their fruits,

She heard whispers as she bled out.

She deserved this of course.

Reckless girl, running after him of all people,

He would change her, corrupt her,

Beautiful she’d stay while her heart rotted.

Immortal, but dead within,

Suffering with no end insight.

Maiden no more, she was something wicked now.

The bringer of destruction.

Maybe she had been so all along.

The Queen of Spring, laying among the fruit of the dead,

The Queen of the Dead, laying in the living world.