Oh, the fall of spring had never looked so lovely,
The reds, greens and yellow hues bleeding so deeply into each other,
One is captured by the colors and the images they paint,
So fascinated, they forget it is death giving them such a beautiful show,
As he weeps with joy, for beloved has returned once again.
Oh, the fall of spring is lovely when looked upon by death.
Worship and remember by the god who could never forget a face,
And she is the only one to look upon death and not be ensnared by eternity,
Perhaps love is truly the only one to cheat death.
(That river flows far too wide and deep, though it always circles back,
As to not be forgotten by the one person who is curse to remember each ripple)
Oh, the fall of spring is as timeless as the ticking clock,
Beating and spinning with a life all its own,
Yet, trapped by the confides of natural law.
The ground swallows her whole as she descends to hell,
Bringing life and color to a darken chamber of hopelessness.
And he loves her, if only for that. For how hard must it be for the daughter of life?
When she is someone loved by a being that only causes, creates and nurtures death.
Oh, the fall of spring. Persephone is her name,
And oh, what a lovely name it is.
He clings to it like the mortals cling to their dying rituals,
(Though he knows they never amount to anything.
A soul is a soul and the river holds no bias; no amount of riches changes that).
But he thanks the stars and her powers for gracing him with a dying hope,
Because the only thing that keeps him sane is the presence of life.
And he laughs at the sheer irony the gods have created for him.