Amelia James Poetry

They told her darkness was a curse—
A tomb where tender things grow worse.
But when she sank beneath the ground,
It wasn’t death that she had found.

The quiet wrapped her like a song,
A place where she could rest, belong.
No prying sun to bare her pain—
The dark became her soft refrain.

She learned to love the velvet deep,
The lull of roots where secrets sleep.
The whispering rivers underground
Sang of a strength she hadn’t found.

She pressed her hand to onyx stone
And claimed it as her second home.
Its cold became a kind of balm—
Her heartbeat slowed, her soul grew calm.

The pomegranates dripped with wine—
A bitter fruit, yet sweet with time.
She tasted both and learned to crave
The shadowed gifts the darkness gave.

No longer fearing where she fell,
She spun her throne from asphodel.
For love, she learned, was not the light—
It sometimes blooms in endless night.

Now Persephone wears the dusk,
In petals dark and filled with musk.
She walks between the worlds with grace,
Sweet shadows woven in her lace.

She loved the dark, and it loved back,
A sweeter flame in hues of black.

-Amelia James