Demon Eastoe


The Singing Dragon - Poem by Demon Eastoe

The dragon raised his head,
and sang,
a joyful sound to hear,
He sung of his history,
Thats happened over years.

He sang of seeds that landed here,
and into plants they grew,
Of animals that caught the birds,
that in the blue sky flew.

He sang of a village,
That in this forest wild,
Was the home of many,
that in this village thrived.

He sang of the kings hunters,
as after him they ran,
Scrambling over hollow logs,
cantering over sand.

The darts that pierced shining scales,
swords that cut through flesh,
saw that sliced through bone and horn,
Until there was nothing left.

He sang of misty mountains,
standing tall and proud,
He sang of laughing people,
That talked and were so loud.

He talked of a great colony,
With which many dragons lived,
Of creatures that he fought once,
that did not take, but give.

And as he sang, his body,
Crumpled, to the floor,
And as he sang the final note,
The dragon was no more.


Poet's Notes about The Poem

He's not meant to be dying, but I guess it sounds like that.

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Poem Submitted: Monday, January 28, 2013



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