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Enotneicna
Member
since 1999-06-06
Posts 340
Oakland, Or, USA

0 posted 2000-01-26 12:40 PM


This started as simply "Dragon's Lament"  but I have since written a continuation.
I hope you like it!

Dragon's Lament (Pt. 1)

I am the oldest of my race, black as jet.
Now we dwell in the deepest places of the earth,
Where man could never set foot.
Molten rivers flow and pockets filled with precious gems and gold.
The gold still sings to us, magical and melodious.
Songs of the days of old, far distant past.
Once there were many of us, proud and strong.
Now we are but a handful, still proud and strong.
Though not as strong as of old.

My Queen shimmers in the glow of the molten lake,
Fiercely guarding her clutch of three precious opalescent eggs.
One must be a queen, or we will cease to be.
We took refuge in the depths of the earth long, long ago,
When the slayers hunted us relentlessly for profit and sport.
Ground our bones to magical powder,
Dried our blood for potions;
Used our teeth and claws for talismans.

We are a long lived race of beings,
So clutches are borne centuries apart.
My Queen is the last, she was strongest of all our queens.
And now she is old, though not near as ancient as I,
Black already defines her scales and tips her claws.
We are dying................
This clutch is our last hope for the survival of our race,
There must be a queen!

The Hatchlings (Pt. 2)

Sleek rosegold scales edged in feathery black.
She nuzzles and turns each of three opaline eggs.
A sound somewhere between a purr and a growl,
Emanates from her glowing form.
Suddenly.....
Wings spread to umbrella her clutch,
From the rain of rock and gems;
Shook loose in the cavern quake.
In the aftermath, she carefully inspects the eggs.
One has been severely damaged.
A cry reverberates through the cavern,
That would wrench your soul to weep.
There within the wreckage of the egg, crushed,
Rosegold scales, a queen.
She cradles the damaged egg in her claws,
Before relinquishing it to her mate;
Who takes it to the edge of the molten lake.
Gently placing it upon the surface,
The egg does not burn.
The molten rock engulfs it pulling it under.
They roar their grief in unison.

Turning attention to the remaining two eggs,
They are moving, it is time.
The pair hover anxiously.
One egg begins to crack, slowly pieces break away.
A muffled cry, small, almost weak sounding.
The egg splits and there before them is a male,
Silver bronze in color.
He is healthy and strong, he will survive.

Now the remaining egg begins to crack.
The silver bronze newborn scuttles to its side,
Sniffs and nuzzles at it.
It cracks further and still further,
Then splits open wide.
A triumphant roar erupts from the pair.
For there amongst the shards of egg.
Healthy and strong,
Roseygold and glowing.
The survival of their race,
A Queen!

Dragon's Lament~~~~~1999
The Hatchlings~~~~~1-24-00



 Words are my medicine.
Read and live and love and heal!



© Copyright 2000 Sharon Lee Wilcox (Enotneicna) - All Rights Reserved
Enotneicna
Member
since 1999-06-06
Posts 340
Oakland, Or, USA
1 posted 2000-01-26 02:29 AM


I've never written a sequel before..........does it work??????????

[This message has been edited by Enotneicna (edited 01-26-2000).]

Enotneicna
Member
since 1999-06-06
Posts 340
Oakland, Or, USA
2 posted 2000-01-27 02:29 AM


I was hoping someone would read this..........

 Words are my medicine.
Read and live and love and heal!



hoot_owl_rn
Member Patricius
since 1999-07-05
Posts 10750
Glen Hope, PA USA
3 posted 2000-01-27 10:48 AM


I really like these. You've used some wonderful imagery that takes the reader there. I could see the dragons well, visualize the eggs and the hatchlings. I think I like the sequel even better than the original. Here's something you might like. It's a type of poem called a sestina...in fact probably one of the better sestina's I've read in my life. Your poem reminded me so of it
The Year of the Dragon ~Karawynn Long

Ours was the burning, the autumn love,
born on the morning the maples caught fire,
pointed tongues of scarlet and copper licking
at the sky. His sharp teeth closed
tenderly upon my neck; under our claws
the grass crackled dry and gold.

Later he dragged trinkets of gold
into our chosen cavern, odd tokens of love
scattered across cold earth. My restless claws
clinked and rattled; a hundred shrunken fires
blossomed with my breath. We huddled close
against the chill of winter licking

at our bones. I shifted, irritable, and licked
the cracked skin of my swollen belly. Gold
makes an awkward nest. He hovered close
despite my temper; I wondered if he loved
me, and what that might mean. I dreamed of fire
and roar, flight and breath and teeth and claws.

In spring my children were born. Tiny claws
pricked like thorns as they nuzzled and licked,
suckled and tumbled and kindled a fire
in my heart. Outside, dust danced gold
in slanted pillars of sunlight, and this love,
I thought, this love alters everything. I closed

my eyes but I could smell him still: too close
sang the old warning in my bones. My claws
flexed; my wings spread protectively. Go, love,
I told him, go now while you can. He only licked
my chin, crooning, and gazed at me with eyes gold
as birch leaves in autumn. I swallowed my fire.

But I watched him, wary yet, while the sun's fire
lit the lengthening days and heat hung close
and heavy upon us all. I saw the golden
eyes narrow to jealous slivers, and when he clawed
at my boldest son I was ready; my flame licked
across his face before he struck. So passed our love.

My lover burned black under my summer fire.
I licked my brood, curved my tail to keep them close,
and dug my claws in deep among the ashes and the gold.


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