The Savanna Muse
The savanna Spanish moss, it drapes the trees:
The muse's hair falls below her knees,
And flows through the trees,
And is being bolstered by the clapping of the leaves.
Awaiting audience: Carmen's becoming;
They're spinning their songs by the feathers on wings,
And wings ride on the winds that blow;
It's haunted by ghosts and the banshees.
She pulls at my shirt,
And whispers soft in my ear
For asking me to stay:
So we can play, and sing, and eat.
And sway with the rocking of the dock,
And count the boats,
And float with the dolphins in the river:
We can be gift givers.
And tea sippers, book readers, and mystics:
We will hold council with all the wise women,
Wild bitches who run with the wolves -
We're bleeding feverish fluids.
From our fountain pens, and throw pennies in the fountain,
And keep climbing, twisting, bending up our mountain:
We, the she, won't ever rest
'Til our dying breath, 'til there is nothing left.
Live, and love with no regrets:
Even when no one can stand the weight
We are chained to;
Little girls then should not have to.
Carry, but we blaze as burning in the flames,
We rage, and set a fire to their pitchforks;
A witches' rave: great flood is coming soon,
We pour our blood, and shock the prudes.
See, oceans rising with the moon:
You pull the knife, you lick the blade;
You crack the sky, and bring the rain,
And bring the rain, and bring the rain...
Lzzy Hale, 21 Jan 2025 (12:40 AM),
Instagram (link)
