persephone, you are not the only one who lives with death

This is the moment

You realize,

That no one has told you the truth.

Living with your God of Death

Is warmer,

Closer to the heart of the earth.

The time with your mother

Is filled

With silence.

You cannot tell her

How you spend your time,

How he feeds you pomegranates.

You cannot eat

The fruit she gives you, While looking her in the face.

There is nothing for you but the caves,

Where he peels the flesh

Of the pomegranates

With his lips, Not caring for the juice that sticks

To his fingers,

To his face.

Your mother is cold,

And she has cut your fruit for you.

No hands,

Just utensils.

She never used her hands

To hold you.

No one has told you the truth,

How cold it is

When you are gone.

How the crops stop growing,

And everything

Loses it’s colour.