Slaying Dragons
Sometimes we, the royal one, and I
We need paradigm shifts.
Crave, no hunger for, new normals
Feel the burning desire, the fire in the belly
For radical, get with the program plans
Or better yet, write new ones.
That color wild and bold and tempestuously
Outside the lines
White-out replacing old with new
Marking gloriously fresh borders
In pen, not pencil.
And with
Ear to the ground, we hear
Pounding
Hooves and heartbeats,
Like wild bulls, joining wild horses
In a throwing-the-dust-up maddly in the air,
Frenzied
Stampede.
And depart for a good long while
The dog-in, dog-out
Cat-in, cat-out days
To raise
The roof
And the wrist, the ventrical vessel for the overflow of
The fiercely beating
Heart
Pick up dragging feet, or dragging pen
And maybe even an imaginary sword
With the sharpest blade words, not metal
Can make
Foot in stirrup, mounted on horseback
Maybe even two feet
Planted firmly there
And for once and for all
Slay the dang dragons
Who will find themselves pitifully piled up
In the corner, shaking with fear
And trembling
Cowering at the sight
Of one bold and brave
Writer, warrior, woman
Friend.
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Dedicated with love and admiration to the following three women in my world: Amanda Hill, Maggie Wynne, and L.L. Barkat. Slay on.
elizabeth w. marshall 