A voice rips through the verdant
floor
Cracks its earth till its lives
no more
The echoes find ethereal
realms
Hanging high atop the dying
elms
Shout, kick, and cry my
Queen
Let them see your pearly white’s
sheen
Words make quick work of the
wood
Creating worlds where once nothing
stood
Face the moon and let her
alight
Trade brightest sunbeams for darkest
night
Your charge raging faster than all
fire
Not letting anything be your
occupier
Never falling only floating swiftly
above
The banshee call of a mournful
dove
A voice is returning, now, listen
low
The gaining ground of a mighty
tornado
Wrestle that power back it is
yours
Beat down the coast of distant
shores
This forest moves calmly once it is
done
With your song commanded you’ve already
won
ABOUT:
Charlie Cole (she/her) is a writer, editor, and photographer masquerading as an office drone. Her works can be found in such publications and organizations as To Write Love on Her Arms, Snowflake Magazine, and Cream Scene Carnival Magazine. When she's not writing or working she enjoys overly analyzing movies, petting all the dogs, and attempting to satiate her sweet tooth. Cole believes in imbuing her work with vulnerability, tenacity, humor, and always a dash of eccentricity. Follow on Instagram plus Threads @charliecolepresents and Medium: @charliecole.
POET'S INSPO CHOICE: The Witching Hour — Emily Magpie