In the dragons cave filled with treasure.  
with a warning you did not heed
eyes of blue become green eyes with slits
as the curse of the dragon hits.  
Your heartbeat racing faster than ever before
sweat drips from every pore
skin becoming scaly and green.
Blackened claws burst through fingernails
legs and arms flail about
sickening crunches as bones grow and reform
the storm the rage of fiery dragons breath
forms in your lungs
burning all things in your path
as you exhale with a roar
horns pierce through skin and scales
break through your forehead
It hurts even more
as your jaw breaks and moves forward
into a reptile form
teeth lengthen and grow sharp
muscles expand and strengthen
tendons stretch and lengthen
nostrils flare
caught within the glare
of the mirror the witch put there
in the dragons cave
you won't be a slave
anymore as you seek vengeance
from her and the other humans
forevermore.

A writer's
worst curse
comes in the
form
of apathy
and that my darlings
is the worst kind
of death

Framing me as "good"
will do twice the harm,
admit that I'm faulty
no more false alarms,
I reside in every face,
any religion, any race.
Always buffeted between
right and wrong,
from head to toe,
I'm flowing with flaws,
and to escape this bloodstream curse,
I'll write my misdeeds out in verse.
- Anti.

I guess its time to tip the flask
while taking up another task
writing down my hurt and pain
in messages, I bleed in vain.

Taking leave, I bid adieu
thanking them & thanking you
hope I find inspired thought
else it seems, it's all for naught?

Trouble brought by words we say,
or folded hands we teach & pray,
perhaps I'll write another day?

Until then, I say farewell,
in stories I may never tell,
intentions good, paving roads
we're hoping to relieve the load.

Kissed by luck & slapped by fate
I live by love, & not by hate
so here's to them & here's to you
something that we all must do
scraping off the sticky shoe
& all the nasty residue...

A poets heart is sometimes frail
while looking for the Holy Grail
in spinning webs, a haunting tale
this time of year reminds us all
someone must have quite the gaul,
to write of leaves and how they fall

Seems I've got a poetic curse,
I suppose that things,
they could be worse
keep on spilling, verse and verse

Lifting up the bones I bury,
digging  down can be quite scary
sometimes even slightly harry
even though I'm kinda wary

I write again for you.

Cherie Nolan

I am a king.
A king I may be,
Although I am powerful,
I will never truly be free.

For forces beckon me,
Of land, sea and beyond,
To make use of my knowledge.
Summoned; bound to those I'm not fond.

I am a king.
A king I may be,
Loyal to my legions,
As they are to me.

Although loyal seems blessed,
A curse it can be,
For duty comes first,
To a king as powerful as me.

I am a king.
A king I may be,
I can do incredible things,
Call on me to see.

I can show you the world,
Beyond land and sea,
This often gets forgotten,
For beauty cannot bring fee.

I am a king.
A king I may be,
Blessed with such talent,
I will never truly be free.

For balance to remain,
A blessing is a curse,
For a curse is a blessing,
That is simply inverse.

If our past we could rearrange
For better or worse would things change?
If our future we could foresee
Would it a curse or blessing be?
If all we have is the present
Should we not savour each moment?