Death on Proserpina

Death On Proserpina By Garry Morse

My name is Death or fearsome Dis.
I plunge souls in fires hot
And eliminate youthful bliss.
Sorry, this is my lot.

Many maidens play in corn fields
Like virginal fairies.
Each to a man or God soon yields
Like daughter of Ceres.

For her Ceres, the Sea God slaved,
Creating the first horse.
I'm sure Poseidon's never raved,
Awash with passion's force.

Daughter Danai in her tower,
Hidden from manly grime,
Soon welcomed Jove's golden shower
To help her pass the time.

Lonesome Leda, he also found
Caressing a pure swan.
Helen's mother made not a sound
When its trumpet was gone.

Jove again! With his solemn vow
To commit no offence
Made Juno nice, Io a cow
To hide the evidence.

But I govern the Underworld
He rules all of Heaven.
Scores are as times lightning's hurled:
Greater than eleven.

Yet when Death arrives, all are mute!
When it's my lucky day,
I receive their leftover fruit:
What they have thrown away.

This attraction of such pure charm
Who's danced with me before
Has never come to any harm.
She keeps asking for more!

What occurred on those waving plains
To paint me blacker still
And cause so many further pains?
Only a passing thrill!

Her smiles are free, her looks are fair,
But her mind is awry
Beneath her flowing raven hair.
She wants only to die!

She leans forward, dress fluttering,
To reach tempting flowers
While all the men are muttering,
"These are women's powers!"

Your virgin's the talk of the town!
She's never more at ease
Than when deathly still, laying down
In the sensuous breeze.

Leading men like Apollo's laurel,
Leaving bare lissome limbs,
She teases men into quarrel
To serve her morbid whims.

Her angles greet every fellow
And quite soon entangle,
Begging for brutal Othello
With caressing strangle!

Dancing at a perilous height,
Your frail darkling flower
Moans wildly beneath pale moonlight,
"Bring me my final hour!"

Of such quiet desperation
She seductively talks
As they feel each palpitation
Within the slender stalks.

Blame Venus! Blame her Cupid's point
Reaching these verdant soils,
Sparking my desire to anoint
Her with forbidden oils.

She saw my dark carriage approach,
Pulled by my dread nightmares.
Either ignorant of reproach
Or she knew my affairs.

She was fragrant, her dress askew
As flowers she collects.
How, you ask? If only she knew...
One seldom recollects.

I warned her, "Don't speak to strangers,
It is bad for your health."
She replied, "I know the dangers
And you too, God of Wealth."

This mortal with body divine
Encouraged gruesome Death
(and my riches suited her fine)
With every living breath.

Oh, she who knew the very vine
To bring along below
For producing magical wine.
How little did I know!

I showed her nothing she did not
Want to see, secretly
Yet Rumor's rampant in tales hot
Of me! When did she flee?

Lightning attacks in open fields
Entertain or inspire
But beware the fellow who yields
To Proserpina's fire.

Her varied appetites rising,
She got in my carriage
To go to Hell, not despising
But seeking our marriage.

This sweet victim sure did flourish
Within our dismal state.
A single bite will not nourish
Hunger! What did she sate?

I have not a heart of granite!
She over all ladies
(undone by a moist pomegranate)
Knew the rules of Hades!

Maidens, beware of pomelos
With rather juicy rinds!
This lie, (they'll lead to bordellos)
The majority finds.

And everyone calls me obscene
Although she got her goal:
Proserpina's my reigning queen
And mans our nether-toll.

You find me rash, you find me bold!
She accosts these poor souls
For what they take with them, pure gold
At our tolls ere the coals.

Especially for men of vice,
Eyes alight with shadowy glee,
For men she rolls the dice,
Or mariners upon the sea.

You who curse my name more than hers
Ever with bitter hate,
Know dark passion within her stirs
For she and I are Fate.

For we are Death or fearsome Dis.
We plunge souls in fires hot
And eliminate mortal bliss.
Forgive our fatal lot.