Queen of Change

They whisper my name
here, in these fields
where the grass grows thick
with questions.

I was not stolen.
Not in the way they tell it.
There was no scream that tore the sky,
only silence
as I stepped toward the bloom,
a violet no mortal had seen.

The earth opened,
but it was not a wound —
it was a door
to something I had always known
but had forgotten.

Hades wasn’t a thief,
but a guide
in shadowed robes.
He showed me the places
where light hides,
where life itself trembles
in the roots beneath the world.

Demeter’s grief — yes,
it scorched the fields,
broke the hearts of men
waiting for the harvest,
but even in her sorrow,
there was wisdom growing.
She knew, as I did,
that I was not lost,
only changed.

I have learned to live in cycles,
to bloom and wither,
to rise and fall
with the seasons of existence.
Above, the world sees me as their spring,
a breath of life.
Below, I am queen
of the still, silent dark.

The boundary between them
is not sharp,
but soft —
like the edge of a dream
before waking.

They call it death.
I call it becoming.
In the underworld,
I have touched the unseen,
felt the pulse of what lies beyond
the visible,
and when I return,
it is with that light
burning in my hands.

I am both the lost and the found.
I am the seed buried,
the flower reborn,
the daughter and the queen.

And when you stand in these fields,
when you press your hands to the soil,
know this:
it is all one story,
one dance,
one unending flow.

There is no true end.
Only the breath you take,
and then the next.