The wind : falling : Persephone

The wind whips around my home

Intimations of spirit on the breeze

Rattling blossoms on the trees

Speak of spring

But here I am so sick inside

Persephone falling

At the tender age of 17

She bends to the ground

Plucking a flower that grows

Taking the fateful step

That will steal her childish innocence

In the underworld where she lands

There are nests of briars

Crowns of thorns

And many other instruments of torture

That cut and wound

Piercing flesh

Once so calm soft and smooth

Now memory and imprint of cutting lives on

In a thousand poison barbs

That could be wounds

Caused mostly through mis-attention

Here in the underworld

She paces her lair

In circles of steps

Like a wild hurting animal

Skin pierced with wounds

Whose dried blood has congealed

Wandering wandering wandering

Restlessly pacing

Driven half mad with trauma

Can you see me?

Am I real?

Please give me something to soothe the pain

As wordless hurts now driven deep below

Silently scream

Struggling to make a terrible emotional truth known

But in the vacancy and the silence no one hears

There is only her cry

Become empty echo

Resounding

Against hardened, deafeded ears

And so exhausted

She falls again

Deep, deep, deep

Into the emptiness of cosmic space

Where feeling

Now denied

Becomes nothing

But endless pain

Repeating relentlessly

In a place of wordless endings

From where all meaning

And sense of comfort

Is obliterated