There are no roses in the underworld
nor gravel
to keep one from falling
only shadows–
it twists and turns and at once catches fire,
the brooding sun
watching from the other end,
how can it be that I am no longer afraid?
Is it because nothing has happened,
soft lips
untouched, unopened like pink fruit,
its tiny black seeds of explosion
with a flavor
so sensual so as to tempt
even Hades
in the realm of the dead; from his fingers
I am hail,

concentric layers of silver, seething ice
from where nothingness remains–
whatever hope that once existed now serves
to be faint;

I watch as you pace round and
round the colonnade

eating dust;
you cover our briefness together in song.

 

 

Photo credits: Henrik Aa. Uldalen Art, Pinterest

A Skylover Wordlist: Underworld, brooding,
silver, seethe,
colonnade, faint. πŸ’

Posted on the Writers’ Pantry @ Poets and Storytellers United