Drowning in a deathly dryness,
Swallowed by a midnight land.
He stumbles, trips.
Scratches stinging and bare flesh scraped
He is lifted by a dragon.
His jewelled belly glitters temptingly,
A thousand licks of fire
slither over him.
Like a wicked mother they bathe him.
His eyes, his ears
filled with screaming hot white light
He is engulfed.
He is burnt blind, deaf and dumb.
He can see nothing,
He is a ball of fire.
With one razor’d claw
a new mouth is slit.
Perfect, red raw,
there this dragon placed a kinsman’s tongue.
His tail slices round
and there a perfect arrow cleaves his chest wide,
and then as he lay motionless
the dragon leaned close
encircled, ensnared by smoke.
He is deathly still.
And then, a roaring, rushing,
ocean of fire pulses in his veins.
And then, water.
Water, cooling, calming, soothing
trickles and splashes over and into his skin.
and in the these sounds he could hear the voice of God.
“Go forth and let my word
Lay waste with fire the heart of man.”
I wrote this when I was doing my creative writing MA, and we were asked to alter a poem or a saying? I can’t even remember now and I wish I could remember what inspired this as I found it buried away in one of my files and is one of my better ones.