.

Six

Bitter were the crimson seeds,
Beautiful they were to me,
Sparkling like ruby beads,
In his palm of ivory.
Dark they were to look upon,
Rivers rushing down to mix:
Phlegethon and Acheron,
Lethe, Cocytus, and Styx.
Bitter did they roar and weep,
Yet harmonious to me,
Singing as I lay asleep,
In his arms of ivory.
Bitter were the seeds of red,
Though to me they tasted sweet.
While I lived among the dead,
Nothing else I cared to eat.
Overlooking Asphodel,
Lit by neither moon nor sun,
Rose the keep where I did dwell,
Hewn from pure obsidian.
Silent were its vaulted halls,
Silent as a catacomb.
Peace I found within those walls,
Sweet enough to call my home.
Six enchanted seeds of red,
Six seeds bound me to his side.
Six for six months in his bed,
Six months as his stolen bride.
Dark and mirthless were his eyes,
Iron blue and saturnine.
How they shed their grim disguise,
Gazing deeply into mine.
Six months in his company
Changed my heart of gold to lead,
Dark yet wise enough to be
Honored as queen of the dead.
Up above, these are my thoughts,
Lying in the orchard’s shade.
Peaches, plums, and apricots,
Gladly, all these would I trade
For six arils more of red.
Six for living all year long
With the sovereign of the dead,
In his arms, where I belong.

.

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Patricia Rogers Crozier has been published in The Washington Post. She holds a B.S. in Physics from Mississippi College. She resides in Gulf Breeze, Florida and works at Publix. She is the winner of the 2024 SCP International Poetry Competition.

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3 Responses

  1. jd

    Another beautifully rhymed & rhythmic tour de force, Patricia. After reading your first poem, I jump to your work whenever I see your name.

    Reply
  2. Roy Eugene Peterson

    All the Greek mythological rivers rushing to Hades and joining while overlooking the meadow of Asphodel and then dark obsidian vaulted walls for the “keep” is an amazingly stark image of which Dante would be proud. Your poem flows majestically and ominously as only a poet adept at her craft can fashion.

    Reply

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