Twinkling lights. I remember twinkling,
clouds resplendent awaiting snowfall.
It's Persephone's time below,
growing in power, regality.
Friend to post-living souls,
hearing their stories,
sharing her own,
from the above time.
we sing seasonal phrases,
sweat anxiously in crowded malls
over inner demands for a never
Children standing in awe below
magnificence of glowing giant trees.
Cities return to primal forest
for an imaginary season.
Telling ourselves our stories that
Santa might find us worthy
of that shiny plaything that will
make us all right, make us happy.
Happy little children, so Mama
and Papa might be proud,
tell us happy children stories,
take us back to the Garden.
Deep below, Persephone combs
her silken hair, long tangly
Magical petals of bliss and succulent aroma
lightly fall within the Garden walls.
The flowers are sleeping, blanketed in
reverberations of stories,
plotlines thick with forest lore.
Snowflakes twinkle, lightly falling
drape long-growing trees
peacefully awaiting their Queen.