Persephone is dead, though the sun still shines

And the lake across the field reflects a cloudless sky.

But the branches of trees are empty and bare

And reach out like claws with thorns everywhere.

The water smells of dung, the grass yellow and dead.

The remains of human waste the wind easily spread.

Apollo’s own chariot does not match our steam

And though the sun may shine, its heat does not bleed.

Our thoughts have been invaded with lies and deceit

That we have created despite Earth’s misery.

The mind gives false assurance and proclaims “don’t fret,”

While Persephone (the spring) lies upon her death bed.

Wake up from thy slumber; get up on your feet,

And shake off the lies that our government feeds.

The trees still shake their leaves off in fear,

So avenge Persephone and our world so dear.