The limit of a body against the odds of life,
The cry of loneliness that echoes in the dark.
Writhe against the mattress of place and time alike.
A fire burns within, till its latest ash.
Hands of mist that loom, bead of pearly sweats.
A serpent lies within, silent and dorment,
Growling from its pit, filling with desire
A beast that grows in wake, it stretches and it fires.
Inside, the deepest red, the pitiful poor hell,
In dream of only clouds, and air, and of wind,
As bodies crush the limit, discover hidden wings,
In pairs rise and drift; against the sun, them stars.
A strangled cry of pain, that distance can’t subside,
Has risen from the space, that stretches and compress.
It aches in all its power, all air burns a mark
That only flesh and heat could help so to supress.
And after beastful fight, yet higher and yet far,
When rush has broken limits and it has turned to haste,
Lay slain two bonded dragons, one real and one dream,
One black that reaches stars, one white that burns of red.
The tails silent brush, and it all finds its worth;
The black one found its day, the white its darkened mist,
And yet, as world exists, they stay a solid twist.
If it was to vanish, they’d be a heaven’s dream.