Pomegranate Queen
A stabbing semblance to the forbidden flame –
Borne earthwards by Prometheus Titanic Man-Maker –
She burns, a smouldering inferno against the Hades 'scape.
A twisted mass of red-honey curls float and flutter,
Buoyed by an unseen stream in a static sky;
She kisses the chalk-grey vastness, wrists intertwined
In a spiralled self-offering to the dusty ashes.
Golden sandals kick up about the hem of her dress –
A billow of scorched-orange silk, in an electrum bound –
In a mockery, a damned mockery, of the deities' dance;
She, but a glittering vision of woman, of life, of death … of flesh.
Stagnant is a smile upon those soft cushioned lips,
Curled at its ends, and chilling to the all-stripped bone;
It is satirical in its joy and maddened in its grief,
To bounds un-dared by any mortal vessel.
She continues yet to dance the damning step,
The fiery, damning step of the deities …
Persephone, Pomegranate Queen.