The Last Dragon - Poem by Demon Eastoe
Fire roars past chalk white teeth,
with origins from caverns deep,
Where prey is overcome,
With the Heart's beat.
A crown site upon his head,
made of skulls and bones,
of other dragons he has beat,
but now his own ones groan.
His mind is getting slower,
as he places his head down,
Legs entwined in flora,
as he sinks into the ground.
He raises his noble head,
and through his mouth he cries,
And all the silent humans watch,
as the last dragon dies.
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