Persephone’s Lament

Skye Baker

Persephone, why do you cower so

from your dark, descending fate?

How many women, do you think,

would gladly take your place?

With one glance, he was smitten,

drawn to your light, enraptured

by your careless smile and laugh

and he had to possess you for his own.

Why mourn your descent into his dark world,

when such power is his to yield?

Who could pity you, poor maiden,

while you rest your dainty form upon a ruby throne,

rest your silken head on pillows made from the very stars themselves

fill your petal lips with the sweetest of delicacies,

which no chef of the mortal world could ever conceive,

and wrap your sorrowing body in cascading gowns

encrusted with brilliant, mirrored gems.

Oh, Persephone, who needs the sun?

when the much kinder moon graces your windows

in a palace of shadows and dreams.

Who needs the flowers, you once so lovingly picked

fleeting flowers of pinks and blues and yellows,

when Hades offers flowers of flawless beauty

that refuse to wilt in your pale hand?

And what other man could you seek,

that could offer more devotion?

Why do you mourn your fate,

when the king of the underworld, with power over death,

cast aside such creatures of beauty and power,

succubi and sylphs, fairies and harpies

that have long haunted the dreams of mortal men,

and instead chose you, dear Persephone,

and places moonbeams before your mortal feet,

turned you into his fallen goddess,

and realizes your every dream.

What more attentive lover could exist,

than your ancient, immortal god?

And what more power could you seek,

then at the hand of the god of the Underworld?

Mourn not your fate, Persephone,

and surrender to your dark god of death,

and his realm of eternal night

for in its dark folds,

many secrets and dreams reside.