Twinkling lights. I remember twinkling,
clouds resplendent awaiting snowfall.
It’s Persephone’s season below,
growing in power, regality.
Friend to post-living souls,
hearing their stories,
sharing her own,
from the above time.
we hum comforting 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 interval.
We recount ourselves our stories,
pray Santa finds 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,
sing us happy children holidays,
take us back to the Garden.
Deep below, Persephone combs
her loosened hair, long tangly
Magical petals of bliss, succulent aroma,
blow about within the Garden walls.
Perennial flowers sleep, blanketed in
reverberations of legends,
plotlines thick with arboreal lore.
Snowflakes twinkle, lightly falling,
drape long-growing trees
peacefully awaiting their Queen.