It strikes a spark in forest dark
where shadows creep in silence.
Where echoes stall, and snow ne’er fall
and quiet hints at violence.
A breath of fire in eyes of ire,
thin plumes of smoke ring round it.
And growl so grim yet suits the whim
of black hearts who have bound it.
The clacking claws and snapping jaws
that rend the woodland stillness,
are not aware they snag and tear
in vain. It feeds their illness.
The cords bite deep, the beast to keep
in all its howling horror.
In writhing twist all hell resist
makes oozing wounds the sorer.
Its tail contort and all in sport,
in glee they pierce its thick skin.
A thrust impart straight to its heart
till death it does not give in.
Its death knell dire, their lust inspire
in frenzied state they storm it.
Its eyes roll back and bonds go slack;
climactic force transforms it.
They whoop and dance in fevered trance;
their conquered prize before them
They pose and piss-- complete their bliss:
heroics penned in poem.
The treasure take the rest forsake,
all there for the beholder
A tooth and scale, a piece of tail,
the great beast left to molder.
Author notes
Nickelspring~
I have always thought sport hunting a cruel, wasteful "hobby".
A contest entry
- Important Issues by pinksnowboots.
570 points, ended February 19, 67 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Any comments welcome
Comments
1 - 6 of 6
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Oh I love dragons... and the cadence of your rhyming quatrains lent a sense of urgency to your message. Nicely done!!!
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I really struggled with the meter on this one, finally abandoning it.
Thanks for visiting
KW~
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Yes, I love dragons. Thanks for the comments!
KW~ -
Good poem
Always feel sorry for dragons in most stories. Sighs, always loved dragons.
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Interesting poem, very well written.
Beautiful rhyme and rhythm.
Well done. Good luck in the contest.
Anna.
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Wonderful
Very well done. A great creation for the theme. Best of luck in contest
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