THE LAST DRAGON

Atop a lonely mountain peak
A creature of legend stands,
Stretching out his mighty wings
As dusk spreads across the lands.

His steel grey scales are without a blemish,
As he flexes them in the light
Casting their reflection abroad
As he watches the coming night.

   And as the sun begins to set,
The creature stands on high,
Holding a faceted crystal
Up towards the sky

As the day passes through,
There erupts a spectrum of light
Darting colours across the sky
As the sun dies from sight

Noble serenity, majestic pride
No remorse in his pupiless eyes --
With a piercing roar across the sky,
It is therein all power lies.

As the shadows begin to stretch,
He beats his massive wings,
Gliding gracefully off the mountaintop
While the wind around him sings.

The land below him trembles
As his mighty claws touch land,
Reaching down to pick a rose,
As gently as a hand.

The rose, as red as blood,
Held gently in taloned grip,
He brings it close to his serpent's head
Its aroma to catch a sip.

The shadow of the mountain
Stretches far across the sky,
As the mighty legend gazes
At the rose, with soulful eyes.

And as the shadow touches him
He breathes a contented sigh
Then stares on in sorrow
As the rose withers and dies.

Holding the crystal high,
He looks into the moonless dark
Nothing did the object offer,
Not a light in the sky to mark

As he roars with pain,
His talons wrapped around it tight,
Squeezing with all his sorrow and rage,
The crystal shatters from sight.

Without another pause,
The mighty beast took flight,
Never once to ever return
Back into our world of light.

"How lonely is the world that has no dragons..."

James Carey©

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