Poem in the place of content.

By sarah 05 Apr 2002

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.

<p>The Persephone Year</p>

<p>The Persephone year, my trap</p>

<p>of endless night broken</p>

<p>by days of dark slumber,</p>

<p>never returns</p>

<p>me to a morning </p>

<p>spring of bright delight.</p>

<p>Seven bloody seeds stain</p>

<p>my lips and my soul,</p>

<p>etched with the smoke</p>

<p>memory of their lives.</p>

<p>Seven songs play on my tongue</p>

<p>and I am left to siren</p>

<p>their memories in the place of my own.</p>