THE DRAGON SLAYER'S DREAM
Over and under and onto the lips of a
cinnamon whisper repeating my name,
Lying in treasure retrieved from the dragon who
ranges no longer with sulfurous flame,
Bathed in the sweetness of feminine wonder and
drunk with the splendor of victory's fame,
Bring me the night with a draft of intoxicants
poured by the hand of a delicate dame.
Mine is the somnolent comfort of warriors who
back from their battles just barely alive,
Bandaged and soothed by remarkable maidens whose
natural endowment has made them revive.
Mine is the knowledge incredibly strange that a
man such as I could endeavor and strive,
Facing the dragon that no one could conquer and
betting by Thunder I'd never survive.
Here in the hall of the heros and saints who by
virtue and might everlastingly stay,
Wreathed in the garlands of demigod glory and
ever with nonor receive what they may,
Nothing forbidden to heighten the senses and
dazzle the mind in euphoria's play,
Leave me to drown in this heaven of incense with
never another behemoth to slay.
D. Edgar Lamp
www.TheDailyPoem.org #35
Monorhyme
Monday, November 8, 2010
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