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This is my dragon. He found me today.
He had been searching for me a long time.
I lost him many years ago when I was young.
I took a wrong turn. Some had called it life.
So many have died of what they call life,
In vain their dragons searching for them,
I know I am fortunate, unlike them—
My dragon found me and shared his fire with me
Before he breathed his last in the disguise
He had worn all these years calling for me
(Dragons who must hide must also die).
He opened his mouth as if to swallow me,
But only whispered his dream for me—
I forfeited flight when I ran from my dream
But I can still believe his dream in me.
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About the Author
R Allen Shoaf
EROTIC RECKONINGS, my second volume of poetry, can now be purchased from New Plains Press or from Amazon. My third volume, PIED-PIPER PHILOL
… where hatred alone is sacred … Welcome to the land of the spree and the home of the crave Where greed is the only creed, hatred alone is sacred— If you wanna vote, wear a rich man’s coat. Wanna be rich? Leave your neighbor in the ditch. Wanna be a man? Scar as many...
Make Greatness American Again That's all.
I've had a bellyful of Bernie Trump. Megalomaniac excess that can't see beyond the end of its own penis. Not to mention misogyny rampant. In 68 years of observing American idiot-ologies I have never before seen such puerile petulance. And it seems clear now that growing up is...
Why philosophy always weeps ... Socrates did not ever write, only Plato did ... Why religion fails: it is the sickness for which it pretends to be the cure ... Why politics breeds nothing but hatred -- it cannot listen to difference ... Why poetry is reviled and scorned but has never disappeared ...
Life is the dividend of separation.
Rime imposes formal discipline that some poems intrinsically require. Here, the standard complaint that rime is artificial is actually one impetus for writing. Just how much can artifice add without seeming “artificial”? I feel that this poem, read aloud, derives significant energy from rime.