The Tower Tumbles

Ella McCrystle

It's time to say goodbye to turrets,
sing loss to leafy crowns, glimpses
of reverie from this lofty bastille.

It's time to realize the gravity of
breath, the bravery in dreams.
I'll lean on the laconic swipe of
wipers whooshing raindrops away.
Sound's movement cleanses cells.

It's time to stop being my own enemy,
find the voice inside - the girl who
simply scrapes off grime, enters
with ferocity and a swagger that
puts men with spurs to shame.

It's time to live without questioning
everything I do. Storm the palace
in my head, bear arms for it, wage
war, this time on my own stallion.

It's time to remember how beats
entice hips to sway, wild with scents,
phrases whispered from my core.
Move freely, unafraid to leave a
longing musk in my wake. Lose
myself in a man who senses this.
I'll say my barricades are down.
He'll believe me when he comes.

It's time I recognize the potency
of beauty; move like liquid, flow
like gold rush without thought,
set my body to rhythm's lust.
Sublime strength will crush
dreams with every thrust.

No matter the tower has tumbled.
Poetry will escape panting breath
amid rubble as we lay spent.
I'll forget the spires of illusion
as soon as I find you --
whoever you are, come soon.

I'm losing my ability to breathe.

---

Ella McCrystle lives in Baltimore, MD as the proverbial "woman who collects cats." Her rabbit recently ate her Child Within. Poems published by SaucyVox, MiPo~Print, SpaceBreather, Ink, Literati Review, Epiphany, Sometimes I Sleep with the Moon, Writer's Hood, Survivor Wit, and The Writer's Cabaret. She has been scribbling notes others insist on calling poems for a few years. She howls at the moon as a singer and is known to break into Billie Holiday tunes at the least appropriate moment.