Dragon Watching


I'm throwing the pennies,
reserved for my thoughts,
into a fountain,
wishing it to erode this mountain of mutters
to only a guttural, sharp


But who could divine
why I hide substance behind rhyme,
why I scamper away from your shine
to describe from vague distance
what is better off
being burned alive in?


Who could imagine
why I window-watch your dragons
rather than fly kites into their snouts,
to make them aware that somewhere
beneath their glistening scales
I listen for roars?


Why has it come to this?
And what will resultantly birth?
Shall I have been better served
caressing your gaze with my stare,
than reluctantly perched on a fringe
praying your periphery finds me there?



View grahf's Full Portfolio