She watches the red dawn rising,
Through cold immortal eyes
The pregnant moon still hanging,
Heavy in the sky.
How sad she seems
As all her beams,
Cast shadows under light,
How happy still seems the sun,
Ever setting on the night.
Oh, pale Persephone
With ghostly fingers ignite,
The sun, the sky
A world of shade,
Emerge from the womb of night.
Kiss the donnabella,
Withering in your grove.
And pick the wolf's bane waiting,
For you to take it home.
Flowers die in the garden of Eden,
Frost sets in to kill,
But still she wanders among the trees
Succumbing to winter's chill.
Face as pallid as death,
With lips as red as blood.
Her fingers trail the ashen path,
As she waits upon the Son.
wOR
Comments
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Ur imagery is once again absolutely stunning dear heather, i could read it and imagine everything happening so fluidly, you are truly an amazing and gifted poet, I am so proud to have you as my friend.
The first stanza is brilliantly rhymed with superb rythym, the rest follows on however doesn't quite compete with the opening
But yet another brilliant piece from a wicked angel
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