The Dragon

A spec of dust,
The smell of lust,
Cutting trough darkness,
Cutting trough light.
So came to be,
The thing that lies beneath
Your lordly feat.

O great mages of the past,
Come forth at last,
And release your timeless
Wisdom that is instilled,
In your hearts.
So you can go far,
And afar from ideas,
Which are in plain site.

Listen to the dawning Moon!
It brings such terrible news,
That in somewhat way
You can keep at bay.
The Dragon is rising,
It comes from the past,
Will it glow light,
Or turn life in to dust?

A vineyard is drawing it away.
How can it be?
Is it the smell?
Couldn't it tell,
The difference between
The men and the grapes?
Or could it be the alluring
Aroma of rotting fruit
That makes the beast
A half-wit creature?

Dare not strike him,
O great cowards!
Can't you not see?
He is far asleep,
In the vineyards of the lord.
Leave him alone!
Strike him not in a cowardly way,
Or else.

I shall keep you away.
Leave him be!
Can't you all hear me?
You are all madmen,
With no remorse
For those weakened souls,
Who came to be,
From darkness and light.