I woke with words tangled
Under my nails,
As blood beneath
Dragon scales...during
The kill.
Something, someone...
They are the same...
Will stop breathing
By nails, words, blood,
But grieve nonetheless,
For one who swallows these
Words, not their
Meaning.
Or, meaning misread,
Leans on it's
Knife.
A scorpion lays sleeping
Under the Dragon.
Who will move first...
At what cost?
Accepted for publication by Orbis Journal, England,8-21-07. Today.
Will appear in their Fall issue.
elysabeth faslund
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/origin-of-the-flame-1/
