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,

soothing, tantalizing,

lulling.

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,

say nothing,

hear 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.