Georgia

Georgia.

Why do you sing of Georgia?
I don't know, and honestly—
I don’t care,
Because right now. In this moment.
Here. With you.
Even I am in love with Georgia.

You, purple and grey,
Your hips sway to the sweet sound
Of hammers striking strings.
And your voice,
It takes me away,
Away to that far off land.

Oh your voice

The very essence of Georgia
As if were you to stop singing
The entire state would cease to exist
Vanishing into nothing more than a memory
Of “that one girl” who you think you saw
At that bar that one time.

But you’ve moved away.
You heard that bar closed down, so
What’s the point in remembering, anyways?
She’s long gone.

It’s true— I don’t know you,
I doubt I ever will, but
Your song, old and sweet as it may be,
It haunts me.
Reaches within me, pulling out
Parts of me locked away years ago.

Take me to Georgia.

Tell me everything you know and more,
I want to hear it all- need to.
My ears smile tenderly,
For you, for Georgia.

But as the song draws to an end
And the audience begins to applaud
I simply sit in awe, stunned.
Desperate for one last note.

Georgia is on my mind.