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Poetry
Fantasy
Strip off clothes and boots and wristlets,
Breathe deep and plunge into the lake,
Down below the warm current and into deep cold
Where the light is daunted and your muscles shrink back:
And when your eyes ache and your lungs ache
And each bubble in your blood urges you up, look down
And see the dragon far below.
There are depths that quench fire.
Caught rampant, wings arched and cocked over,
The beast claws at nothing, jaws wide, teeth sharp.
Its drowned eyes are empty white, calm;
Death has darted in and snatched its rage.
As you slowly rise, a fish drifts down
And picks at scales no sword could pierce
And sludge already clinging to them,
And mouths a ruby caught between two of its plates
Glinting in the current from a fin.
(Far away, the dragon's cave is heaped with dull gold and gems
Long smothered away from the sun.) Would a knife
Pry it loose, or would you have to struggle
In the depths, yourself drowning? As you break the surface
And take one great fresh breath. Too tired
To raise your arms, you lie still
As men lift you into the boat,
Rub your arms and legs with rough cloth, pour wine
Into your cup, and even as you drink
Shout and laugh and ask question after question
About the drowned dragon.
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Copyright 2008, Elizabeth H. Penrose. All rights reserved. Elizabeth Penrose is a member of the writing group the Pittsburgh Worldwrights, along with her husband, Barton Paul Levenson.
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