He holds my arm back From a strong sprint The prancing gaslights His berry-eyed glint The saints of Arcadia A candid serenity Don't talk back, boy Are you my enemy? So from whom do I run On the Grand Desert Calypso? The tumbleweeds ceased their cries, and the drink chills the hows, the whos, the whys
Icarus and the Plebeians
Their eyes watched His alighted, singed wing It was this day, this moment They stopped hearing the lark sing The plebeians accepted Their sentence Lineage scoured With cruel condescendence See Jupiter’s glare, the tense arcus The dust stilled, dazzling heights Were dashed Chariots thundered, levity vanished, rotted, cascades No longer thrashed In yesteryear, they knew a rouge-colored sky They knew of depressions and renaissances They knew of the pitted brown winters They knew of fresh fields calling They now see vein’s maroon From a high hope’s falling
The Tale of Peresphone
To many, Persephone is a scandalous love story about a young girl taken from her mother by an evil, dark god. Others might view it as a twisted coming of age tale, with some not-so-subtle-allusions between "womanhood," fertility, and the bright red colors of pomegranate that Persephone eats. A more promising and philosophically poignant meaning lies underneath the tale. What makes Persephone's tale so tragic is its necessity: the allure of death, and death itself, is inextricable in the continuation of life, rendering us all paradoxes in disguise. We live and thrive in our dissonances and conflicts, our beauty conceived by melancholy.