General Poetry posted August 27, 2017


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Requiem For The Dragons

by Thal1959

Be entranced and enthralled of the ancient years,
to when the Earth spun slower, and its heart was young,
of an uncoiffured life, of both joy and of tears,
of forgotten bards, and lost melodies unsung.

 
But, unhappy times dwelled, in the seasons of yore,
like unwashable stains on Sylvan robes clung,
for the elder generation did they deplore;
deplored in hearts tenented by egos so young.

 
Yet, this natural loss, of respect and gratitude,
was reserved not solely to rustic mankind,
its rancorous germ did so unbiased include,
the young restless serpents of primal dragonkind.

 
For far and for farther, and for farthest away,
in the secreted realm where nestles mighty snakes,
the oft-angry young did so eagerly display,
a natural guile for old traditions to break.

 
With the seed of discord, irreversibly sewn,
the elder Dragon Magi had wisely declared,
that to balm the ire the young Dragons had shown,
a great Battle Royal should soon be prepared!

 
For copious dragons of differing hordes,
coveted such melees, for to seek and to strive,
to garner the resources the young Earth affords,
that only their horde shall be worthy to survive.

 
For the elder Dragons had thought it was best,
to resolve their feud with an honorable entreat,
knowing when it ended they'd be put to their rest;
better battle as armies than thugs in the street!

 
Thus, on a quiescent day they had come upon,
west of Anatolia and Bosphorus too,
those hordes of dragons were gathered thereupon,
the mellow morning skies of Europa, so blue.

 
From within each horde, a lusty champion arose,
as legions of "watchers" maintained their altitude,
by flying in circles - a great barrier grows,
which granted the champions - battlefield solitude.

 
The Blue Dragon horde - they were mighty reptiles,
who battled with electrical charges that jolts.
And many a foe dreads their sinister smiles,
by laughing, is their lightning fired in blue bolts!

 
The robust Red Dragons were plumed with hoary horns,
like angry volcanoes - breathe amber fire in beams.
But it was the weaker foe who often times mourns,
as their fire-seared flesh, in an orange glow, gleams.

 
The horde of Green Dragons were a most wily lot,
attacking their enemies with fetid diseases,
that induces their scales to burn and to rot;
their ghastly afflictions carry on gentle breezes.

 
Black Dragons of the night with corrosive might,
assail with clear acids that they spew forth in streams,
and many and much more had fallen from flight,
dissolving in fading, plummeting screams!

 
The archaic Brown Dragons breathe poisonous mists,
that infects and cripples all who stand in their way,
their taut, leathery hides fairly halts and resists,
whatever their enemies should strike with or spray.

 
Dragons from the northlands, whose White scales are flossed,
with fine gleaming shards of pure crystaline ices,
breathe a chilling white death through pillars of frost;
a frozen-alive death most cheerfully suffices.

 
But the Gray Granite Dragons, rock strong and bold,
like the shifty Sand Dragons both surely insist,
to dismiss with those weird, magic weapons of old,
choosing razor-sharp fangs and a well-taloned fist!

 
Stunned villagers below stood staring at the sight:
a million serpent shadows blanketing the plains
diluting the sun's rays to bleak beams of night,
they sought shelter in caves and Empyreal fanes!

 
The champions did hover, their foes they did size,
to determine which engagement was best,
and to measure the mettle in each dragon's eyes,
to discern who might succumb to the test.

 
As if divinely ordained, the first to begin
were the icons of holiness and of evil,
the Silver Dragon, and Hydra of seven sins,
had renewed their endless crusade - primeval.

 
These two lone dragons would coronate the game,
for there is naught but one Dragon of each,
the last Silver Dragon, Srebmivoda by name,
breathes Holy water through a nasal flue breach.

 
But Ziozmaj the Hydra bears seven foul heads,
and distracts his foes through darting and lunging,
tearing off snippets of the flesh that it shreds,
'til earthward its foe goes, pallid and plunging.

 
Srebmivoda, the Silver, spewed forth her wrath,
in crystal streams of purest Holy water,
Each head of Ziozmaj in that Baptismal bath,
burned and withered in a grim, writhing flaughter.

 
With five heads of the Hydra shriveled and wan,
Ziozmaj did struggle to hold flight in his pain.
But he damaged severe the Silver Amazon,
as the darkening clouds burst forth with the rain.

 
Yet, this rain was due to a secreted reason,
one the Dragon elders could never foresee,
for the Lord had prepared a punishing season,
to inflict mankind for his sinful treachery!

 
Far off to the east where the deluge first fell,
bursting from the aquifers as hard as it could,
rains washed away sinners and did also propel,
a pious man's family in an ark made of wood.

 
Thus, the rains of Europa blew down and athwart,
on the two bloodied dragons in their airborne berth,
no longer could they fight, their struggle was cut short,
as both rolled their eyes back and plummeted to earth!

 
The great Silvered one fell in a fast rising lake,
while the Hydrant of sin's fall, bore grim overtures,
crashing on a temple that drowned sinners did make,
shattering its columns and wreath'ed entablatures!

 
The turbulent clouds writhed in grays, greens, and blacks,
and the thunderstorm pealed with a deafening noise,
the eight remaining champions prepared their attacks,
as the orderly contest had lost all its poise.

 
For the torrential rains had a surprising effect,
for the dragons who bore uncanny magic,
as the waters rained down - a most eerie defect,
had disabled their weird powers most tragic.

 
Witvorst the White Dragon's frost melted to fog,
and Pirostuus the Red's fire, formed cloudy steam!
Zelenbolest the Green's diseases were whipped into smog,
Mustahappo the Black's acids washed down, downstream!

 
Verilleo, the Brown, with the head of a lion,
drank his own billowing poisons diluted!
He dropped as if felled by the Hunter Orion,
the rising sea levels, his body polluted!

 
Albastrufulger, the Blue, did suffer the most,
for the great positive charges in the clouds,
ripped his lightning bolts upward till his mouth did roast,
the electron covered waters were his shroud!

 
Kumpensha the Sand, and Cinzagarra the Gray,
who fight with their claws and with conical teeth,
realized their advantage and jumped in the fray,
the champions fell quickly; no magic to unleash.

 
The six magicless hordes then decided to band,
as "watchers" abandoned their encompassing wall,
against the dragons of Gray Granite and Sand,
reducing the contest to a wild free-for-all!

 
The storms made them panic as they glared down below,
at the rising sea level and the havoc it wreaks,
submerged and engulfed every village and chateau,
so rapidly rising up the mountainous peaks.

 
For without the tall mountains to land on and rest,
their fate, like the fallen, would be only to drown.
But as the mountain tops sank, the hordes were distressed,
for the storm and exhaustion brought the tired hordes down.

 
Who was the last dragon to alone sail airborne?
Which horde had rallied to survive the melee?
It surely mattered not for he could not dare mourn,
the fate of his kindred as he joined them in the sea.

 
When the last dragon drowned, the wood ark had landed,
the earth's great fissures reclaimed their underground seas,
the flood o'er the lands by the seas were remanded,
forming gorges and canyons; a terrainian frieze.

 
The shroud of sediments on the damp lithosphere,
encased and entombed the dragons; now docile,
when in ages uncovered, in time shall appear,
a petrified sculpture of a skeletal fossil.

 
But the wings of the dragons were boneless and soft,
they were lined with cartilage and by muscles galore,
no ossify could testify to what kept them aloft,
the skeletons that remained, were named great dinosaurs!

 
The dragons were felled by man's great misspence,
which rots away nobleness as holiness is starved,
fleeing the ivory years of childhood innocence,
from which the guilt, and the sins, of adulthood are carved.

 
The dragons have perished, their sight is no more,
their culture and traditions are beyond our ken,
and all that resembles their reptilian lore,
are the talons and fangs of warmongering men!


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