The Dragon in You
come on baby light my fire
The dragon in me loves the dragon in you. The way we smolder together. The way our eyes reflect the conflagration behind the eyes of the other. The dragon in me loves the dragon in you.
.
Those hard scales cannot hide what is inside. Each scale a kaleidoscope of colors, swirling and merging, reminiscent of gasoline on water. Gas, yes, fuel for the fire, waiting to scorch like our desire. Those hard scales cannot hide what is inside.
.
I see you soaring there, you great winged beast. Magnificent. Others may run and hide, but I gaze, mesmerized. They look, but they do not see. It must be fear of what they do not understand. I do not need to understand. You are magnificent and that is enough. I see you soaring there.
.
Your breath hangs in the air like hot coals and ash. When you speak, I can see the smoke signals against the bright winter sky. Your words are heat, a branding iron, searing into the flesh of my heart. Others merely speak. You breathe words to life. I want to fan each syllable into an orange-red flame, as it hangs in the air like hot coals and ash.
.
Your love is an inferno. It chars and blisters those who cannot endure. Proximity is enough to singe those of weak will. They run, they flee, and they blame you for their weakness. Yet, here I stand. Unafraid and unflinching. With open arms and open eyes, I embrace your love, I embrace the inferno.
.
Love dies when it grows cold. Dragon love is forever love. Whether an ember, or blaze, it is always there. No need to ignite the sparks, or kindle the cinders. It is ever burning, ever yearning, for one who will not combust at its touch. I will not incinerate. Touch me. Scorch your name into my every cell. Love dies when it grows cold.
.
You inspire me to fly higher, to burn brighter, to soar over this life unafraid. With you, I spread my wings a little wider. I roar. I am determined. The dragon in you calls to the dragon in me. You inspire me to fly higher.
.
Scratch beneath my surface with those dreadful claws. I have been waiting for someone to dig deep. The timid and the talon-less do nothing for me. What can they see? Everything I am worth is hidden beneath this outward shell. Scratch beneath my surface with those dreadful claws.
.
You are magical. You are mythical. You are mystical. Endangered, but not extinct. To some, you are a dream. To others, a nightmare. They do not know how to reconcile you to their myopic vision of what is and what might be. Easier to pretend you are a figment, whether good or bad. You are not imagination. You are magical.
.
Together we form a pyre, reaching for the sun. Icarus was an amateur. We are dragons, you and I. The heat only tempers us, like precious metal. Neither solar flares nor envious stares can penetrate our impervious armor. Together we form a pyre.
.
You hold tight to a treasure. Protect it with your life. But the tales told have gotten it all wrong. There are no jewels to beguile, or gold heaped in piles. The lore is a bore compared to the reality. It is not always clear, but behind that veneer, I see what many a hero and adventurer has sought in vain. You hold tight to a treasure.
.
The dragon in me loves the dragon in you. The way we smolder together.
.
The dragon in me loves the dragon in you.
About the Creator
Randy Baker
Poet, author, essayist.
Reader insights
Outstanding
Excellent work. Looking forward to reading more!
Top insights
Compelling and original writing
Creative use of language & vocab
Easy to read and follow
Well-structured & engaging content
Excellent storytelling
Original narrative & well developed characters
Expert insights and opinions
Arguments were carefully researched and presented
Eye opening
Niche topic & fresh perspectives
Heartfelt and relatable
The story invoked strong personal emotions
Masterful proofreading
Zero grammar & spelling mistakes
On-point and relevant
Writing reflected the title & theme
Keep reading
More stories from Randy Baker and writers in Poets and other communities.
Tea set by a suffragette
Pankhurst is a name well known to the history of women’s suffrage. Who hasn't heard the name Emmaline Pankhurst, founder of the Women's Social and Political Union (WSPU), an all-women organisation campaigning for the right to vote? The group that helped to achieve the right to vote for women in Great Britain and Ireland in 1918. Some know of her daughter Christabel, both being honoured by the Pankhurst memorial in Victoria Palace Gardens, London, right next to the UK Parliament buildings. Sylvia Pankhurst is notably not included in the monument. Why? Because she split with the WSPU to campaign against Britain's entry into First World War.
By Raymond G. Taylor2 days ago in Art
Comments (9)
Some really great word choices here! nice job
There's a great song by Amy Speace called the Killer in Me. This reminded me of it (although that was quite a bit darker)
This is so vivid! I could literally see this line come to life, “When you speak, I can see the smoke signals against the bright winter sky.” Well done.
Wow, you weaved your emotional words so beautifully together.
Wow!!! This is brilliant, Randy. There is so much emotion in this and there were so many lines I wanted to highlight. One of my favourites is, "I want to fan each syllable into an orange-red flame, as it hangs in the air like hot coals and ash." I also loved "Icarus was an amateur." Stunning work. Thank you so much for sharing this! 💗
Icarus was an amateur. Ah! I love that line. The power and confidence that brims from those four words. And the imagery throughout this prose is so well done. This is great, Randy!
Beautifully expressed- I think eveything we are all worth is hidden beneath the shell x
Yes so true! Dragons are awesome! Just brillant! Loved it!
Fantastic poem! Plus dragons are awesome! 🐉🐲