dragon king 1

big poem i : The Dragon King:

                                   Overtures

and the dragon said to him

(between clouds of redsmoke)

when you take my head, take it

with you,

mount a gold band around the neck.

There's gold aplenty here.

Then, the worm was on him

ten mighty tons of scaled mountain,

taloned hands flashing

glints in the redsmoke,

                                            in the dark

underbelly of the earth.

So long have I been here,

                 coiled around my

endless ringéd pain, so so long..

The dragon spoke even as they clashed.

   The young man did not speak,

for the battle was fast

                    and very frightening.

  Armour was gashed, sparking

                         by one blackscaled hand

  the boy stood swinging

                 his brazen knife,

      sword of kings, pathetic, blunted

                   on the hard arms of his foe.

 His wastes ran down his trembling legs,

and he feared he  would soon fall

         in terror or to the flashing deadly

   hands and darting hissing head.

 The beast did not throw itself upon him;

        for this he was glad,  knowing

              not

         the wishes of the beast, he knew

                not

          the reason for it.

                 In the final heat of it,

     the dragon

             seemed much smaller, much

    like a man, but all unclear in the

            choking redsmoke there.

   A hand caught his, as he reared back,

     an eye sought his

                  as he struck, unhindered,

     and  a form fell slumping, liquid,

             disordered,

                         even as the  perfect

         spike-bearded snake's-head

                    dropped at his feet, eye still

            meeting his.

            A gold band, he thought, and

  with a heavy sorrow on him, he searched for it,

      Hurrying ,with dread so 

   dark and nameless on him, he ransacked

       rummaged

          and tore through the treasure pile,

 technology  and gems ,gold and famous papers,

  fine footwear, clasps torcs and diadems,

    old records and their players,

older drawings on cloth paper :

     all was hurled aside

 in the increasing pace of his looking.

   From the floor, in the clear rocky throne-room , dust-streaked,

     an eye regarded him even as it glazed.

 Amusing ,this

          game of control, amusing

 even in death.

Peter Greene 2010.