Writing a Little Tonight

Although not specifically about the chase, this "little" piece I wrote tonight was inspired by SB 164.

Perspective of Persephone

Of all the places where I might wish to be;

It might be the sylvan fields of gentle Persephone

Alone, I’d bend to bowers in pearly seas of green

and dream the dreams of things yet unseen—

The forest hides the elysian blue of moonlit pool

Where blind Narcissus stares like a frozen fool

Walking on tips of toes, I tread silently, so quietly, by,

And pause—just slightly—as I imagine his sigh.

A rumbling, of thunder, or perhaps Etna’s distant fury

But nothing in this vale has yet made my heart worry

So Iowering my eyes once again to the flowers,

I smile as I anticipate the life-bringing showers.

Soon the rumbling is covered by Pan’s whimsical flute;

I laugh in delight as I hear Apollo’s lyre refute—

Who is sitting as judge in their contest of skill?

Midas again, or has his new ears had their fill?

Or will Aura dance in with her teasing light breeze?

To playfully arouse, she’s so eager to please—

But is it her wrath I hear, growing ever more near?

Her warring with Artemis was surely something to fear.

The corner of my eye catches the sun dip in cloud

As if it were desperately seeking the safety of shroud

The hairs on my arms prickle at some unheard sound;

I freeze, listen, and ready the edge of my gown.

My feet begin to tremble on the rattling ground,

And even the stout trees seem to shrink down—

As I look all around and try to find the source of the din

I shake my head, no— it cannot be. It comes from within. 

Then, the black moment, when the black coursers appear;

With the promise to steal everything I ever held dear;

And the charioteer, just a glimpse, and I know— 

That he hails from death, from the earth deep below.

Suddenly beneath me the ground I’ve loved crumbles,

And his triumphant shout is almost drowned in the rumbles—

I stumble—and within a hair’s breath of time;

His strong vise of a hand entirely closes around mine.

The scent of the marsh hangs strong in the air

And I’m afraid I shall wither if my eyes chance to dare

At the powerful presence urging his frothing dark stallions 

Their eyes are terrible, crimson-flaming medallions.

The landscape swims, my vision dims, as I struggle to breathe, 

Hades’ grip tightens as I remember to scream.

I turn, reach back and catch a tear-wrenching sight—

My mother, Demeter, her face a pallid mask of pure fright.

“Mother!” I cry, stretching, reaching as far back as I can— 

Tears flowing freely, a bitter sea that sickens my land—

Desperate Demeter begins chase with an agonized roar—

And suddenly…a jarring descent— I see her no more.

The wispy, whispering sky of my Elysian youth disappears;

And I feel I’ve aged an aching ten thousand years—

The charioteer’s rugged visage then appears for my eyes;

And I try, but fail, to hide my surprise—

My captor’s Aegean eyes speak strength in their mercy;

I stand frozen, bewitched as if enthralled by Circe—

But no moly-laden draught had I consumed in this place

And never could I, if I hoped to escape this damp space.

For many a day, I resolved to speak not a word,

Trying to ignore the gentle ministrations of Hades I heard—

Finally failing to stifle the passion pulling me apart;

I resolved to bravely surrender my heart.

And so began a friendship, a royal romance of the ages

But often wondered what would result from Mother’s rages—

I knew she would eternally search, forever a martyr,

And would punish the world—especially Zeus, my father.

My visions were realized when heartbroken Hades, one day,

Relented to Zeus, and said he had to send me away—

I could return to the world above—green grass and bright sun—

But why did I feel no victory was won?

Before I ventured to reunite with my overjoyed mother,

Hades offered me one last gift like no other—

Four tiny Pomegranate seeds, not enough for a meal,

And would not violate the underworld’s no eating deal. 

So, I took the seeds, slipped them under my tongue

And immediately realized the grave mistake I had done—

My youthful heart slowed, my lungs stuttered in breath,

Then an eternal pause between life and my death.

The agony of betrayal flared white hot as hell’s fire

But was a flicker of flame compared to Mother’s ire—

She withered the crops until nearly all mortal men died;

Ignoring their pleas, and turning away as they cried.

Tormented with the guilt of his deadly mistake 

Hades pleaded on behalf of Man’s sake—

And agreed to lift the stifling veil of my doom,

Allowing me to return home at time of Spring’s bloom.

And so the seasons were born with that fateful scene—

Winters I’d spend as the underworld’s dread queen,

Returning in Spring with an endeavor to nourish;

My presence beckoning the grass and grain to flourish.

So passed I from blissful youth to wise goddess,

Aware of mortality when winter heart stilled my bodice,

The pages of time will ever remember my history,

As the day Hades abducted gentle Persephone.