Persephone

The mortals call our curse the great reward.

A life sans end, sans age — just nectar sweet,

Ambrosia fresh. But we on high are barred

From else. I craved uneven metric feet.

My mother pulled the grain up from the earth.

The mortals worshipped her with feasts and prayers

And Love! Real love, fierce hard love born from birth

And hardship, illness, joy among the snares

Of menial life… I called; he took, my blood

Divine ascream for Hades’ shadowed mares,

For dragging down, for fruited seed, for Love.

My mother beat her breast and tore her hair

Because I left the world of heat and breath:

Small price to pay for one caress of death.