The thunder of the music in her ears.
As it roars her head finally, finally clears.
She’s come so far. She’s come so far.
Still playing her favorite teal guitar.
Dark of the club, not even a light show.
If she were to cry, the cheering wouldn’t know.
No longer smoke filled places, like in her youth.
Even if he was here, they wouldn’t sneak a smoke on the roof.
The crashed car. The headlight pointing to the black air.
Crying, wiping the blood from his face with her long hair.
The black stained red, a veil that he passed through.
“Don’t leave me! Don’t leave me! Our world isn’t through!”
And the music is a lulling dragon whose fire is cool.
In it’s teeth the peace of her voice can finally rule.
His ashes and his grave spun into a melancholy thread.
If she still loves him, still feels him near, he isn’t dead.
And the ringing in her ears, the thumping in her breast,
this gentle monster still the exorcist that soothes the best.
And still her teal guitar, that she bought when he bought his own,
still bright in this dark place, still the devoted weight, tender millstone.
Sitting in the meadow, first of spring,
Heart raw and bleeding, but healing.
All that had happened, all that had been done,
All she had done, was like the weight on Atlas.
It was warm, the wind gentle, tender.
The sky was blue, and she smiled,
Thinking of something happy from childhood,
A good time shared by her and her mother.
Fighting back to the light, after it all,
Back in the forest that had been her Eden with teeth,
Demons and mermaids and spirits abounding, calling out;
She heard the whispers of the wild, lonely little girl she had been.
In between dreams and the sun, as she walked on dusty light,
The Unicorn came from the Dark Forest, and knew the good
That was reeling and bleeding and calling out,
And The Unicorn came and laid its head in her lap.
And whatever came now, the light would shine, the light would shine.
over her American Flag bikini top.
with the burning sparkler.
in this sweet moment.
and her halo shines back it’s light.
of mistakes and the things that hurt us.
Maybe we’ll make love…
and actually grow close in a touch.
to write her name in the dark again
Let this be Independence Day.