Cold coffin holds,
memories of
a life past lived now
wasting away. When
there is nothing
not even rotting wood
and bone, finally
forgotten by the
living only then
is death true.
Alina Happy Hansen
Writer in San Francisco, CA
- Persephone
She claws her way out
of hell, Cerberus howling
breeze warms frigid air
Young buds stretch for blossoming
birds fluttering in the trees