The harvest of the souls - a poem by Chris Zachariou

Persephone and Hades

A harbinger of woe—

a chilling knock was heard

at noon on her father’s door.

Shadow fell across the land

like the wrath of a gruesome god,
a giant stain on the scorching sun.

Birds stopped their singing,

men and vipers looked for shelter

and only the drumming of his horse's hooves

echoed in the deserted streets and lanes.

People glimpsed his scythe and ran
fathers locked and bolted all the doors

and mothers hid their maiden daughters.

On 'The Harvest of the Souls' day
the nether master rode into the town
to demand his promised tithe.