Savage

They will come,

The world always tries

To kill or conquer

That which is beautiful,

I wish I could say otherwise.

They will come

With talons thicker than my thumb,

To make you just like them

To clip your wings make straight your edges

To fit you in a grave fit for a living slave.

Fight my lovely one,

Fearlessly trailblaze the uncharted waters of sound

When you scream at the top of your lungs,

Outraged and indignant at the gall

To insist that all of who you are

Is something less than spectacular.

Make the natives in your heart

Win this time and every time to come,

With bright red incandescent anger

Against the smoking guns

Of those who would settle

In the land you’ve called your home.

Be anchored but unsettled,

Be what they call savage

But what I call pure.