Ivor Steven: My Dragon (The Trilogy)

 

My Dragon.

A Monstrous Dragon, breathing fire.

Did arise from the gurgling mire.

Dark gangrenous green, from head to tails.

Claws blackened, sharp as nails.

Purple secretions, from his scaly chest.

A spear harpooned, a grizzly mess.

Eyes seeping yellow maggot heads.

My Dragon’s crying, and nearly dead.

 

My Dragon, The Revival

My harpooned Dragon’s fallen and out of breathe.

Gazing around, pleading, near death.

The slayers spear, protrudes from his scaly vest.

And I quietly hear his soulful pounding chest.

Quickly, I plunge my sword, cutting shard.

Removing the spears horrid barb.

My Dragon exhales a fearsome howl.

Eyes Bulging, tears flowing down his jowl.

In agony, thrashing his spiky green tail.

Then slowly abating, like a windless sail.

Is he dying, lying there loudly groaning.

Nostrils snorting, neither afire nor smoking.

Suddenly, his left wing begins flapping.

And my Dragon’s head rises, stretching, arching.

Green horns twitching, like a mythical serpentine.

Yellow eyes glowing, like magical sunshine.

My Dragon’s revived.

And ready to skydive.

 

My Dragon, Can He Fly.

My wounded Dragon, stands so proud.

Neck arching up, looking to the clouds.

Seeing graceful birds flying apart.

He feels a huge scar close to his heart.

My dragon bows, and shakes his beastly head.

But his enormous tail feels like lead.

Flapping one wing, then the over.

Dejected he looks, not even a hover.

Nostrils snorting, no sign of fire.

To fly again, his deepest desire.

From within I hear, gut-rumblings soar.

My Dragon angrily spews an almighty roar.

And his gigantic jaws open wide.

A bloodied tongue swishes his fangs side to side.

He swallows and belches another gruesome howl.

A flame burst forth from his boughs.

My dragon frantically begins to respire.

Again and again his exhales are fire.

And gyrating his heavy green tail.

He spreads his wings like full sails.

Frightened at first, fluttering end to end.

My jumbo sized reptile gradually ascends.

Twenty, then fifty, a hundred leagues above.

Suddenly flying, like a flock of beautiful doves.

Magically rolling and frolicking he flies.

Happily he shrieks and swoosh, rapidly down he dives.

Majestically gliding, he arrives.

My Dragon, again King of the skies.

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Published by Dead Donovan

SlasherMonster Magazine

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