Within the dragons' den—
the smoke they breathe; twists, turns, spirals
hea'enward in clouds of tar and ash
(their mouths gaping and nostrils flared).
Indeed they don't breathe fire—
They inhale it, swallowing whole
The ancient gift of Prometheus
(the first giver of stolen goods).
A wise woman once said:
'This is the closest one can be
with said sacred element. Yet
such intimacy comes with price
(as with all sim'lar relations).
I see their wrinkled skin
And hear their deep raspy roar that
rarely, though spontaneously
interrupts their philosophy
(or words of the drunk lay-dragon).
Sep 25, 2014
Sep 25, 2014 at 1:15 AM UTC
Within the dragons' den—
the smoke they breathe; twists, turns, spirals
hea'enward in clouds of tar and ash
(their mouths gaping and nostrils flared).
Indeed they don't breathe fire—
They inhale it, swallowing whole
The ancient gift of Prometheus
(the first giver of stolen goods).
A wise woman once said:
'This is the closest one can be
with said sacred element. Yet
such intimacy comes with price
(as with all sim'lar relations).
I see their wrinkled skin
And hear their deep raspy roar that
rarely, though spontaneously
interrupts their philosophy
(or words of the drunk lay-dragon).
