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.