To live forever; to cheat Death's Plan;
To slaughter men; to be a Man;
Achaean glory saves their souls,
Written forever in Homer's scrolls.

The lists of names, the blood and gore,
All for one purpose: to die no more.
We sing the songs; we read their pain;
We are the minds that house the Slain.

We are the Underworld.

I'm all too used to the touch of your absence.  Your mother's wrath in that time can be a death sentence so tragic.  But when you come back, Demeter returns to her senses expressing light magic.   Life springs through the darkness, and flowers race to see who can reach the farthest.  Lovers emerge to nurture their gardens, and soak in sun to thaw out the hearts that hardened.  Birds sing songs highlighting your arrival.  Trees breathe easy seeing what their last set of leaves died for..
Yet when you retreat, mother again takes away her warmth.  The high-flyers no longer soar, and some paths feel too bitter to explore.  Bone-chill zones, a frozen reality stream.  I can't blame anyone for what's a part of me, as we fall into winter's annual dream.
Queen of the Underworld, I appreciate your harmony.  Thank you for teaching me to see the depths of my own duality.  Still, I can't help but wonder how existence would be had you not eaten those pomegranate seeds.  In the darkness of winter I want to curse Hades for his greedy need to leach on life through trickery.  Though to curse him I'd be cursing myself and ive had it with the blasphemy.  Besides I too know what it's like to rely on the dead as your only company.  I ride ebbs and flows of loss and hope, but I know your presence promotes healing.  So again I'll remain as the seasons change, taking layers and peeling.  I've found in light and dark we can succeed in setting our bound spirits free.  Communicator of both worlds, I want to Thank and honor you, Persephone~

i think you liked the way
my coronet of flowers was
tilted when i reached the
bottom of your black stone stairs
i think you liked the way i
placed the pomegranate seeds
one
by
one
onto my tongue and whispered
"don't tell my mother"
and i think you liked the way
i walked right up to you
as though you weren't a demon
but a fallen angels wanting to be loved
i smiled
and when you said my name...
that was the beginning and end
of everything

When we think of what hell is, we usually think about the firey place depicted in cartoons
But wouldn't this be quite accurate?
Cartoons are places with no true rules or order
anything is possible
Wouldn't hell be a place of things that make no sense?
A place that follows no laws?
A place nearly fictional but made real by the millions who believe

Sink beneath stars, into icy tacent lands
The world is a reflection, shattered ceaselessly
and mended only ever by her hands

Enter the yawning maw of the dim and thirsty deep
swim the frigid waters till the water is a mist
the potion of the seas upon the shore will creep
and the curtain will be parted by her stoney, frozen fist

The house does rise above, to house the world below
a roof of pinprick candles
through the door we all must go.

With a body of curves, like no other, a true image of the magnificent, celestial mother.

And flowing as a spring with infinite roar, yet one small detail one could not ignore.

Her hair was a torrent, a weathering storm, scattering birds, attracting lightning; a whirlpool in form.

This visage, this appearance, so strange, so bizarre; face of spinning waters, as brilliant as stars.

Falling in love with her, into her flows, where everyone knows where the torrid passion goes.

In drowning descent, never returning from the throes, Land of Sleep, a beast awaits; the awful Kro-nos.