history
Poem in the place of content.
by sarah
Fri 05 Apr 2002 07:45:20
No need to comment on the poetics, it is just the closest thing to a diary entry I could imagine... and it is datestamped... at least in my mind.
The Persephone Year
The Persephone year, my trap
of endless night broken
by days of dark slumber,
never returns
me to a morning
spring of bright delight.
Seven bloody seeds stain
my lips and my soul,
etched with the smoke
memory of their lives.
Seven songs play on my tongue
and I am left to siren
their memories in the place of my own.