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The Ghost Dragon

I dreamt of the dragon last night.

Him who was, from the time long past.

Of what might have been, and what could have happened

I know now that it was nothing more than a fevered wish

There was never any truth to the dragon’s words

For they all washed away in the tide

Scattered on the sands of his island, secluded and safe

But there we walked, talked & laughed once.

In this wistful dreaming

He smiled at me and bid me stay

And then I knew it was no more than fancy

No more than fiction

Drafted from a simple haunting, and nothing more

Dragons don’t love.

They only dream of lightning.

But you cannot catch lightning if you won’t risk getting wet in the rain.

The morning light banished the dragon’s ghost

And I was left with the faint crackle of lightning in my fingertips as he fled.

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