O singer of Persephone,
Tread softly – I’ve got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs,
The lava and ash of poetry scattered in fire.
From what I’ve tasted of desire
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors.
It’s the thing with feathers –
From the ashes a fire shall be woken,
The ashes the burnt roses leave.
The light wraps you in its mortal fire
And this is the sun’s birthday.
Notes: The prompt was to write a cento, a poem made up of lines taken from one or more other poets. The ‘donors’ are, in order, Oscar Wilde, W B Yeats, Maya Angelou, Allen Ginsberg, Robert Frost, Dylan Thomas, [one inserted word – just the tiniest bit of cheating], Emily Dickinson, J R R Tolkien, T S Eliot, Pablo Neruda and E E Cummings.