Oftentimes I sleep. It Helps to pass the centuries. Sometimes I dream strange dreams. I dream I have a human body, and that I always have. But inside I know that I am Dragon. And I am trapped. But then I wake, and I know that they are only Dreams.
I stand at my open window, staring Into the night. The bright, cycling moon Shines in the midnight sky, a chilling beacon, Calling the weary travelers back home. I stand there, my thoughts spinning outward, Watching the stars dance their dance of joy. I watch the night, and listen to the song. Waiting.... I hear the rush of wind on wings, And I see the shine of moon on claws-- Silver claws. She is shrouded in dark, But the wan light refracts from amethyst scales. She alights, diminished in her size, But she is lessened in no other way. She waits. I look up, beyond scale, claw, and wing, Above both fang and tail. I stare deeply Into her eyes--shining dragon eyes-- Bright with joy and mischief, dark with sorrow, And neutral with age and great knowledge. I stare into the eyes of eternity. So like my own.... I smile, and she smiles back, reflecting moonlight, And lowering her noble head for me. I climb upon her neck; her scales are cold To the touch, but lit with inner fire. I laugh, and she laughs back, her silver voice Ringing through the night, like a bright promise Of a joy yet to come for my poor world. She looks at me. Our eyes meet, and she nods, satisfied-- Whatever her great test is, I have passed it. She raises her head to peer at the moon, And perhaps beyond it. Her wings lift, And we soar beyond the limits of mortality.
The little dragon flew in the air, Turning, diving, gliding. He was in a dance. A dance of what? Joy? Sorrow? He stopped suddenly and saw me Then dived at me! I stood, amazed As he landed on my shoulder, Wrapped his tail around my neck and fell asleep. I was leaving and he woke, startled. He jumped from my shoulder and let out a long, sad cry For he knew I was going. The last thing I can remember was his voice, Fading and fading into the distance.
