Persephone sings; “A tisket, a tasket,
The secret’s in the basket.
I willed to join me with my Lover
so everything that is could be.”

Persephone says:

Smother-mother taught her daughter, that’s me, the sounding Persephone, as in far sound, telephony, as in good-sound, euphony, to fear her marriage destiny, Hades, would slaughter her. Yet I went forth deceptively to let my betrothed gather me as I gathered the quantum strings woven to pattern all things, pulling each like a deep-rooted flower in my clasp to break open the deeps by my grasp.

Rupture, rapture, the great capture, dark sought, light caught. No more Hades. No more me. We. We. We. Our ecstasy breaks free every all-crushed galaxy under such pressure gone no light could return. Hades-Persephone call light-burst blooms from black-hole tombs, our marriage torches the renewed universes. Anti-matter/matter, gather up and scatter, dark-Lord, light-Lady, united through now free less-than-quarks confetti whirl, all renewed by that swirl.

Feel shall reveal the mystery none can see. Whoever ate life-giving cake from dead crushed grain seeking that gain stood in black dark shouting at the spark become one flame alone to frame a child on throne.

All torch carriers wandering lonely never found Persephone. My grieving mother’s left to moan crouched on her crossroads stone, demented in her decree that what has been should ever be. The blessed as understanding clears for a thousand years declared death nothing to fear, knowing in what life-flare fleshed things have, there is no eternal grave.