Persephone's Descent

For Erichka

You found comfort in your dreams-
a secret battlefield,
a refuge no hand could reach.

Envy turned to whispers, you withdrew,
wanting neither victory nor praise.
They called you quiet, demure- a closed bud,
not knowing the ocean inside you,
infinite and self‑sustaining,
sanctuary of salt water silence.

But something stirs your paradise:
lightning peppers distant clouds,
thunder- clammoring- draws near.

A yearning rises that pride denies-
the pull of earth, sensual demand,
gravity's personal seduction.
What was once enchanted now turns stale;
whispers: After all, dreams are only dreams.

The soil murmurs; comfort pleads,
yet the soul knows its path-
dropping downward,  winds inward,
to the sacred crucible.

Barefoot, you enter, the furnace of earth.
Its heat cleanses; the bud trembles,
petals remember the lick of sun.

There will be pain.
But when the fire passes,
you will rise- not untouched,
but transformed-

Spring breaking open beneath your feet,
and your budding beauty- Blooms