The Dragon’s Flaming Breath

Sometimes the poet must think he lives in a world of one. He loves fantasies, and the realm of the imagination is like a glorious story-book he can dwell in by day and dream in at night. But then, as if he has been reborn from a medieval existence, the forms and figures of fantasy emerge in the world around him. Then he must doubt the evidence of his eyes and feel alone in what he sees. The dragon is at large in the world. He breathes and bellows through the day, corpses strew the ground where he has passed, and good souls step back and take refuge where they can. Is this dream or legend? But I’m awake – these are the actual seas of life on which I’m tossed and this is a world picked from the darkest scenes of hell. And yet I know, quite clearly, that I am made for mastering the storm and that I bear the source of true life within me.

How can all this come to pass? Did I exist once in a time of fantasy and story before the dragon mind exhaled its monsters down into the world? I am awake now and see my nervous dreams around me: the human mind filling and expanding its evil thoughts into a life as yet untold, where innocence once ruled the heart and hands.

Such visions haunt me through the night although by day the world keeps its lines and edges clear. Can anyone stand with me, declare that I am right, that nightmares live and dragons flourish here? No sense or science will admit the truth, that fantasy itself is alive and scorching the earth around us. The dragon’s flaming breath, its sculpted tooth, have woken in the world which gave me birth.

Form

I find myself by chance within a land

where dragons breathe and bellow through the day,

where corpses strew the ground on either hand

and saintly souls take refuge from the fray.

I’ve lived my dream, I wake now to the scorn

of evil men who orchestrate the fight –

can this be now or is then reborn,

a medieval legend brought to light?

Assuredly I’m not asleep or lost

in fantasies I learned to love so well –

these are the seas of life on which I’m tossed,

a world picked from the darkest scenes of hell.

But look, I’m made for mastering the storm,

and hold the source of life within my form.

 

Innocence

And was I there once where the dragon mind

exhaled its monsters down into the world?

And did I know its murderous breed and kind

in fantasies that had not yet unfurled?

I wake, and see my nervous dreams unfold

around me as the human mind expands

its evil thoughts into a life untold

where innocence once ruled the heart and hands.

 

 

Nightmares

But still my visions haunt me through the night,

though daytime draws its lines and edges clear.

Can anyone declare that I am right,

that nightmares live and dragons flourish here?

No sense or science will admit the truth,

that fantasy’s alive and scorching earth –

the dragon’s flaming breath and sculpted tooth

have woken in the world which gave me birth.

Best wishes, today,

Landar

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