Post by Amadahy on Mar 2, 2005 21:20:27 GMT -5
In the story of Persephone’s rape a goddess’s daughter was whisked off into the pitiful frost-land of the Underworld by a senile Hades, against her biddings. Demeter, the goddess mother of barley and corn, was therefore devastated that the only love of her life was gone. And so, in the absence of affectionate warmth, Demeter hailed down the infertile month of winter. She was the deity of the crop, so in her depression nothing grew or prospered as it had when the apple of her glorious eye was safe by her side. But what if Demeter had known that her despair had been wasted on a daughter who had forsaken and disowned the gods of Olympus? But what if Demeter hadn’t been stolen away, and had run off to find something better? What if Persephone had fallen in love with her kidnapper and wanted desperately to stay, so ate the pomegranate seeds?
I wonder… Amadahy convinces herself to stop thinking as she pads across the pallid snow dyed the tangerines and pale scarlet of dusk by the setting sun, because after all, it was that wretched gypsies’ hound that had told her the ancient myth. He had also nipped her mind with the questions of Persephone head-over-heels for Hades, who actually was supposed to be quite pitiful and kind. But, in the inhospitable winter surroundings of Transylvania, Amadahy could see nothing but the Underworld glittering before her, taunting her as Hades had derided poor King Tantalize. Pluto, that gypsy hound, had taken her under his wing, so why shouldn’t she have been grateful? And the snow begins to fall in fat flakes, March docile as she pranced in as an innocent lamb. So Amadahy makes up more excuses… It isn’t like he could have fostered me there longer.
As the barren branches rattle, icicles clinging to them with an artic dire to quench, Amadahy knows that the Hades of her world was something she had brought upon herself with the forsaking of her pack, her mother, her family. Like all cycles, Pluto then cast her away, disowning her as she did those before her, into the erratic pits of winter. It was a rotation, though, the only way that there would be balance in life and in nature. Lonely. Darkness. And cold. They where what made the warm summer days playing with the pack something to cherish, something to not take for granite as Amadahy had done. Love was not something to wash your hands of, it was not something that is rejected without leaving scars. She was sorry now, her chest wrought and writhing with required apologies, tears silently falling as the snowflakes at nightfall, increasing as they became a storm, into a violent bawl.
The Koran lands that Amadahy had been born to lay before her, Demeter's harvest caked and withered under the packed ice that Amadahy wished she had caused, because she knew that she hadn't ever mattered that much... but things could change and she would make everything matter and make herself matter. She wouldn't let the opportunity of love to slide through her maw like a slippery salmon from the river, or like her paws as she slid over a frozen river bed. It just couldn't anymore. It wouldn't.
I wonder… Amadahy convinces herself to stop thinking as she pads across the pallid snow dyed the tangerines and pale scarlet of dusk by the setting sun, because after all, it was that wretched gypsies’ hound that had told her the ancient myth. He had also nipped her mind with the questions of Persephone head-over-heels for Hades, who actually was supposed to be quite pitiful and kind. But, in the inhospitable winter surroundings of Transylvania, Amadahy could see nothing but the Underworld glittering before her, taunting her as Hades had derided poor King Tantalize. Pluto, that gypsy hound, had taken her under his wing, so why shouldn’t she have been grateful? And the snow begins to fall in fat flakes, March docile as she pranced in as an innocent lamb. So Amadahy makes up more excuses… It isn’t like he could have fostered me there longer.
As the barren branches rattle, icicles clinging to them with an artic dire to quench, Amadahy knows that the Hades of her world was something she had brought upon herself with the forsaking of her pack, her mother, her family. Like all cycles, Pluto then cast her away, disowning her as she did those before her, into the erratic pits of winter. It was a rotation, though, the only way that there would be balance in life and in nature. Lonely. Darkness. And cold. They where what made the warm summer days playing with the pack something to cherish, something to not take for granite as Amadahy had done. Love was not something to wash your hands of, it was not something that is rejected without leaving scars. She was sorry now, her chest wrought and writhing with required apologies, tears silently falling as the snowflakes at nightfall, increasing as they became a storm, into a violent bawl.
The Koran lands that Amadahy had been born to lay before her, Demeter's harvest caked and withered under the packed ice that Amadahy wished she had caused, because she knew that she hadn't ever mattered that much... but things could change and she would make everything matter and make herself matter. She wouldn't let the opportunity of love to slide through her maw like a slippery salmon from the river, or like her paws as she slid over a frozen river bed. It just couldn't anymore. It wouldn't.
