Queen of the Dead
They Say I am the Queen of the Dead,
But how can that be when I hail from the goddess of the earth,
When I can remember dancing in a meadow
And frolicking in flowered fields,
When from my footprint, blossomed life?
Once, the touch of Demeter's daughter was compared to gold;
Now, it ensures death.
They think I still have the power I once had:
To breathe life into what was dead.
Instead of accepting the truth (even a goddess dies),
They say I turned cruel, without feeling.
In a way, they are right.
How can I feel when to remember what I once was
Would drive me insane?
When I should be feeling the warm wind caress my hair and face,
I endure the cold touch of a corpse,
My husband for all eternity:
The god of the Underworld.
Yet, the worst of all this punishment
Is to remember I have no one else to blame.
I banished myself to this.