Vansalon
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« on: April 23, 2013, 10:44:16 pm » |
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Disclaimer: I know nothing about poems, so I don't know what type of poem this is, or even if it's a proper poem.
One dragon paints the meadow white, The next breathes forth his ire. The last snuffs out this world's pale light; Three dragons, born of fire.
The first hails from the frozen north, Where winter storms do gale. His claws rend all who do come forth, His talons pierce the toughest mail.
The next, from craters of the earth, Where fire rules the day. His grinning visage, devoid of mirth, Breathing flame spilled forth to slay.
The last flies forth from darkened skies, Another world, where daylight fades. Sleeping silent, the shadow lies, The dragon wakes, the dark invades.
One dragon paints the meadow white, The next breathes forth his ire. The last snuffs out this world's pale light; Three dragons, born of fire.
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It's like your on the road to being a goth and you're mostly there, but are perpetuallly stopped at an Ice Cream Parlour or something
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RSC Cooper Inc
Don't live to make people happy, but to inspire happiness.
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« Reply #1 on: April 24, 2013, 06:00:11 am » |
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Love it Sounds like something that a story could be spun from
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Vansalon
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« Reply #2 on: April 24, 2013, 12:58:18 pm » |
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Thanks.
I already AM working on a story based on it.
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It's like your on the road to being a goth and you're mostly there, but are perpetuallly stopped at an Ice Cream Parlour or something
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