The Dragon

Ablaze, and between beats of perfect silence,
it disrupts what silver-blue the sun begets, because
its wings are large, have travelled far, it is
fluidity, so much so that in the shadow of
its resplendent folk ballet one eye may look with
wet and trembling fury, the other with
weeping awe—it seems to be things it’s not—
its home is atop the mountain, no,
inside the deathly earth it yearns to bear, but
not devour—fly, you terrible, you omnipotent
master of the air, may God bless,
may God rebuke you.

Thanks for checking out my poem.

Did I tell you I wrote a novel? You can read it here for free, or get it for your e-reader on iBooks, Amazon or Kobo. Or you can just say you read the book, and donate five bucks down below. Go on.

Gabriel Muoio


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