Direct Hit From The East. Poem by Tor Magnor Solvang

The Dragon breathes, a whispered fire,
No name is said, yet burns much higher.
'A nation holds, with iron grip,
And crushes those who rise too quick.'

Who builds walls high, and hearts grow cold?
Whose story's told in tales of old,
Of power held, and gains pursued,
While rising tides are viewed askewed?

But peace he speaks, a common ground,
Where strength is shared, and love is found.
Not war and fear, a frozen face,
But hope and trust in every place.

One tears apart, with angry hand,
The threads that bind across the land.
The other weaves, with patient art,
A future whole, a brand new start.

The choice is clear, the path displayed,
Which way to walk, which role to play.
One breaks and shouts, one offers grace,
Who holds the world in time and space?