tender vinaigrette

aria for persephone

GODDESS of the earth,
mother nature under our feet,
tell me
how can flowers tangle theirselves up in your chocolate curls
and how can birds dedicate their sweet melodies to you
and how can the water that flows over rivers, that moves with their strength the stones, splash your toes like a blessing
and how can the pomegranate seeds rest in your hand with such poise, such grace, that taint your fingertips with crimson and amaranthine;
how can you, the iron queen, the maiden, be the creator of the light, the warmth of the spring and its harvest, as such as the ruler of the dead?

QUEEN of the underworld,
executioner of those who are sent upon you,
those whose sins and blames will never be labeled as innocent and guilty because you, with your rose-like palm, just punish to your own will,
tell me,
how can you be ruthless dressed between poppies and cherry vines
and how can you demand with a heavy crown above your head
and how can you be also feared as well as being loved and you being able to love the Orcus, the Polydectes, the King that shares a thrown with you
and how do you find the way, the balance, between the darkness of hell and the light of your endless springtime?

Queen,
Goddess,
you are the symbol of undying love
because those pomegranate seeds you wouldn't have swallowed if it wasn't for the affection and lust combined for your king as well as your server of the eternal damnation;
you are the emblem of equilibrium
because of both, the beams that caress your terra-cotta skin and the dark dried blood that drips from those you've condemned, show the balance between what we've named as good and evil, a sinner and a saint;
you are the vivid image of pulchritude
because you manage to place your flower coronet equally well as the silky sins that dress you for the giving of your punishments.

dear Queen,
dear Goddess,
dear Persephone,
ruling the underworld
and blooming the land,
never stop raging at those who disrespect you
and never stop smiling for the blossoms that you grow without warning;
never not be arrogant and sweet both together, cause you are the silver beauty of the daggers in restless chest
you are the cinnabar pomegranate
that grows even when there's
everything but light.