poetry

Persephone Searching.

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I entered through the labyrinth,

searching for the center part.

The stalagmites glowed fluorescent,

in the deepening dark.

There were claw marks on the walls

juxtaposed to crude art.

My fingers caressed the etchings,

like somehow these walls could speak.

The secrets of the ones before me,

buried in the moss beneath my feet,

voices choked by death in travel,

a life’s journey incomplete.

I pressed forward deeper still,

into the belly of the beast,

looking for a heart to pound,

a familiar drummer’s beat.

But all I heard were the tunnels’

echoed howls and shrieks.

I heard the bubbling of springs,

boiling in the dim,

lapping the sides of crumbly walls,

and exposing skeletons.

A man in chains was half alive,

with sunken hollowed skin.

He told me a fool was I to enter here

His gnarled finger pointed in judgment,

and his body shook with fear.

Beware the one with deep-set eyes —

they’re only the windows

to a vacant soul,

though they’re blue and clear.

I trekked onward, not the least afraid

of a man who bound himself,

I was free of his chains,

and only searching for myself.

To see what beating song

was inside a beast,

who had chosen to hide

from everyone else.

And it is when you’re focused

on a dark path,

not looking to your right,

that the one you think you needed

enters your peripheral sight…

With deep-set blue crystal eyes,

to lead you to a promise of light.

And he glows brighter than stalagmites,

 growing fluorescent,

from the limestone.

And he says there is no longer

any beast here,

and if you stay here,

you’ll get lost alone.

Wandering aimlessly,

with no way out

of this forsaken

one-time home.

Penetrating eyes

keep you entranced,

and you will follow blindly.

Not noticing the darkened tunnels

are moving downward,

 and winding.

Spiraling faster,

you were so close to finding

something akin

to a bloody pumping thing,

with just a hint of Midas’ gold.

Unbeknownst to you,

the most angelic of creatures

that guide you home,

take the best parts of you,

(they warned you!)

A beast would claw at to hold.

Should’ve known the song

you were searching for,

was inside you all along.

*****

{Let Yourself Be Poetry}

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Alise Versella
Alise Versella is a poet living at the Jersey Shore. She has published three volumes of poetry which can be found at her website, Barnes and Noble, and Amazon. Her work has been featured on Elephant Journal, Women's Spiritual Poetry blog, ultraviolettribe.com, The Tattooed Buddha, and of course here. She considers herself a coffee enthusiast and self-proclaimed dessert whore, who believes with every fiber of her being that poetry, beautiful poetry, can come from the ugliest of pain. Poetry can be the salve for all the broken parts, and it can make us whole.
Alise Versella
Alise Versella