Dragonia• Show poetry

The devoid river flows through my veins empty no pain. I do not feel love as you would, for me its twisted like the lines of fate. I don't really know what love is, I think I've felt it. The only thing I've ever truly loved I know is my Tigers. I was born wrong, I am the soul of a Tiger born into a human. If I can find a soul a kin to mine them maybe I won't feel so alone.....


I would rather stand in the pits of hell
Then ever see the pearly white gates of heaven



The Tiger
By: William Blake
Tiger, Tiger, burning bright
In the forests of the night;
What immortal hand or eye,
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes!
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand, dare seize the fire?

And what shoulder, and what art,
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand? and what dread feet?

What the hammer? what the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?
When the stars threw down their spears
And water'd heaven with their tears
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the Lamb make thee?

Tiger, Tiger, burning bright,
In the forests of the night:
What immortal hand or eye,
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?







"In the night it will come, with claws sheathed and teeth ready. Disappearing amongst the greenery strips impossible to tell against the shadows. Waiting in the darkness, patiently for its prey. The eyes will glow briefly before it strikes. Then and then alone will you understand why it is feared, and has been almost eradicated."