A blood red eye
Looks on by,
Perched on top,
Curled like an icy, cold clock.
When the wind rushes, slicing,
Stinging and biting,
The fire in it’s breath,
Warms itself and allows death.
It’s leathery flaming wings spread apart,
In patterns of intricate art,
Welcomed by the throwing knives,
of the gale that freezes by.
Raising its gargantuan head,
the blood lust will not quaver,
It’s determination will not waver.
On its’s feet,
It will greet,
It will meet,
The kingdom standing high,
300 leagues across, 300 leagues wide,
Knights in shining armour,
Merchants with handmade garments,
The wise Ones with liquids unbeaten,
And children, their enthusiasm heatens.
Flags spread like wings,
Standing proud, against the roaring wind,
The Chosen Ones training hard,
Sweating, bloody, red agonizing scars.
Royals drinking mead and ruling far.
Oh so far, yet with burden of consistent burning of their battle scars.
No one expecting the danger ahead,
No one realizing the blood and tears that will spread,
When the destruction goes amass,
Late into the hours,
No one will go unaffected,
The wrath of the dragon will not go uninspected.