The Dragon

He does not dwell beneath the sky

In a distant land or astral plane.

No smoke to sight or bursts of flame

Its greed and wrath and pride

Had nested deep and dark inside

Projecting terror from afar

As monsters and madness makes its wont

Its victim has no blade or bow

No hero’s blood or fable to show

Nor is myth seen or judged to be

And in that place beneath our face

In the hands that shake

And the loss of grace

Lies a Dragon.

In the shades of strength

And the pits of power

How those smiles and sighs

Looks of relief, and faces of regard

Change.

And new crystalline form flows.

By J.W.H. Hobbs.