The Fate That Is Death

The Fate That Is Death

Mindless, heedless, far from seedless.
Bent on using man’s own weakness.

Hades calmly takes his toll.
Empty husks, abandoned souls.

Wont to take all that he sees.
Will not yield all that is his.

Planted deep beneath the soil,
no resting place, this life’s foil.

Expect this fate so deeply flawed.
Yet swear no oath to this foul god.

 

This poem is my response to Poetics: Persephone, the dVerse prompt in which Sarah asks us to write “a poem that bubbles up from this mixed up family saga, a poem that smells of spring, or is touched by the dark fingers of the lord of the dead.” I chose the latter, Hades.

Image source: Wikimedia Commons

34 thoughts on “The Fate That Is Death

  1. A foul god indeed.
    “Empty husks, abandoned souls.” These words are fascinating to me….the juxtapositioning of empty husks (their dry brittleness comes to mind when I think of dry corn fields in our old Iowa days) to abandoned souls….just a great pairing.

    Liked by 1 person

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