Fear Not Winter

A poem based on Greek mythology.

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1. Fear Not Winter

 The sweet taste fills my mouth
As seeds crunch, crunch, crunch between my teeth.
One, two, maybe more – I’ve lost count in my haste.
 Here, doing what I know I should not,
Eating the forbidden fruit as though it carries no taint,
      I am free.

   Regardless.

It is not enough,
Not for me, whose life was so full of sweetness.
The taste is a mockery of what I once had,
And cold laughter echoes through these stone and ice halls.
     Hell in its own right,
A wasteland to which I am banished like Eve who first sinned
Though I am blameless in this crime.
  A victim of chance,
Doomed by the selfsame fate that once blessed me.

I hear it now,
That sound which so frightens me –
        I tremble even to think of it.

     Of him.

  He,
Whose savagery has doomed me to this miserable state.
  Who failed to fight his desire,
Whose love was strong enough to urge action yet too weak to inspire caution.

Under the warm setting sun of a summer day I rested,
Flowers filling hills and hands alike.
     Paradise.
      Ruined as all good things are.

  Stolen away.

And now even the last of my memories is consumed,
A keepsake in the form of a single fruit,
Seeds eaten, juice dripping.
 I am ruined.
With this single pomegranate I doom myself –
knowing full well the cost of what I do.

Eve would smile to know she is not alone in her sin,
  Not anymore.
My choice is made, my fate is sealed.
 I am dead.

There will be no more half measures.
As I lived in the garden of summer
 So too will I love the frozen winters,
 The cold stones and frigid breaths of frost billowing across my skin.
With these last seeds I consume so does my fear die,
  Left behind like a lost thing.

   Adapt.

 I am death.

    Six and six and six and six,
Endless cycles forever repeating without consideration for those of us caught within.
  How I hate them.
  How I need them.
Those moments lost and stolen away,
Trapped beneath the ground in death I wait,
Queen of a land of dead things and broken dreams,
None more pitiful – more trapped – than I.
    Oh, but they pass,
  Left behind in the months between,
When life and hopes and dreams live again,
      Run free.

Six months of dread
   Followed by six moons of peace
And back to the first in a vicious cycle.
 How I hate the descent,
  When I die to the world and bring the growing things with me
Only to return glorious in spring.

   I am dead.
    I am death.
  I am killer.
 I am victim.

I am life.

Fear not winter,
With its twisted, empty branches
   Grasping at the sullen light of a dying sun.
  Seasons pass, cycle, come again.
 Fear not winter,
 The momentary death which only colors life more vibrant than before.

 Fear not Winter,
 With his cold, dead heart.
 Solitude is a poor companion,
Death an unkind mistress.
  Fear not Winter,
  Whose dreams are shallow, fickle things.

 Fear not, Winter,
For though I leave now,
Ever shall I return to you,
Bound by a fate even I cannot deny.
 Fear not, Winter,
For you have taken that one thing I cannot replace,
       And I am forever yours.

Fear not death,
With its peaceful, eternal slumber.
     Fear not life,
     With its joys and tears and everything between.

  Fear me.
  For I have risen:
                             Persephone.

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