Author's Note: This is based on the common Greek myth of the kidnapping of
Persephone, often the myth that also explains why we have spring and
winter. It's an ancient story and doesn't belong to anybody.or rather, it
belongs to whomever tells it, whether it be a Mycenaen poet or an American
college student. In any case, the basic plotline is old, but the
perspective and emotion is mine.
To Trap a Sunbeam
I knew her since her divine birth upon that legendary lofty mountain.
I adored her from the time she was a merry, golden-haired child with sun- kissed cheeks to the time she was a slender, lovely girl just barely blossomed into womanhood.
I watched her lovingly as the sun that caressed her cheeks, as the wind that ran its ghostly fingers through her flaxen hair, as the flower that she cupped in her lily-white hand, and as the moon that gazed into her luminous green eyes.
I could do this, for I am, after all, the Invisible God.
Persephone. The name sang as sweetly as the songs of the Muses.
Persephone. It rang true in my mind, as clearly as Hephaestus's fiery hammer, and eternally hovered on my tongue, behind my lips.
Per-seph-oh-nee. Its syllables sighed through my dark underground halls, echoing off raw glinting jewels and whispering around my cold stone throne to hum seductively in my ear.
Persephone.
There is a reason this place is called Hell.
To Trap a Sunbeam
I knew her since her divine birth upon that legendary lofty mountain.
I adored her from the time she was a merry, golden-haired child with sun- kissed cheeks to the time she was a slender, lovely girl just barely blossomed into womanhood.
I watched her lovingly as the sun that caressed her cheeks, as the wind that ran its ghostly fingers through her flaxen hair, as the flower that she cupped in her lily-white hand, and as the moon that gazed into her luminous green eyes.
I could do this, for I am, after all, the Invisible God.
Persephone. The name sang as sweetly as the songs of the Muses.
Persephone. It rang true in my mind, as clearly as Hephaestus's fiery hammer, and eternally hovered on my tongue, behind my lips.
Per-seph-oh-nee. Its syllables sighed through my dark underground halls, echoing off raw glinting jewels and whispering around my cold stone throne to hum seductively in my ear.
Persephone.
There is a reason this place is called Hell.