The Disruption of Wind Beneath Mountain [https://media.discordapp.net/attachments/1081627664932159620/1148820475057815553/anti_pirate_graphic_-_walking_in_sky_-_poetry_vol_1_-_white.png]

The Myth of Persephone

The trees walk at night,

oblivious to all, but searching.

Roads are smeared

with mud and broken wood fingers.

This chiseled, cold season is my mother

who has made herself naked in mourning.

I am the lost one removed from the knowledge of day.

Loose earth makes my sea, air and sky.

I miss wistful winds,

the humming heat of sun and needful sight.

I wish for digging,

sunlight fingers to search inside this belly

and find me coiled,

waiting to be cleaned, released.

I draw my escape in letter form on the floor,

wait for an itching answer to my scratching.

I was taken by a catastrophic dancer,

tangoed deep into the ground.

He promised a deep, crackled strength of volcanic rock,

but I have transformed into a wind -fragile angel

whose dress is patchwork webs,

the love of lime covered spiders.

My wings speak in gestures,

they are the hands of an old, dark man

whose crown is mine, with an authoritative glare.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

My words are celestial, black.

The trees first withheld their sweetness,

refused to bloom.

Then began the absence of oranges.

Leaves have fallen, careless in hastened, stumbling flight.

The air is less,

changing into every animals' breath.

Deep below the fallen leaves I was offered the only known fruit.

I bruised it to my chest, talking to it like an orphan child.

I tore its meat to eat six ruby seeds,

envisioned these juice filled fists to be stigmata bled.

Unknowing, I have chosen a dense nest of earth.

My only wind is the neck near breath of my wry, smiling king.

Those seeds have woven winding roots

from my navel down into the ground.

Red, rich clay has made me too beautiful,

harsh to the grazing of aging eyes.

I bleed heat from others.

Their momentary pulse has become a surrogate sun.

In time, in flight,

I will rise to a greater light,

shrouding my beauty with moist leaves.

A hurricane of bees will engulf my hair.

My new fruit will be unbearably green sweet.

- Kat Isacson

[https://media.discordapp.net/attachments/1081627664932159620/1148820475057815553/anti_pirate_graphic_-_walking_in_sky_-_poetry_vol_1_-_white.png]