Dragonslayer Poem by Martin Byrne

Milady my party has been out
Roaming the countryside
Protecting the peasantry
The only thing is, we can find no
dragons to slay at the bottom
of our bottles
Where we wish love would
be able to easily and freely
take us.

That terrible dragon we chase
Has hidden at home, and we do
not fight but flee from it
like a scared babe.
To the bottom of our bottles
we go, us warriors.

Our battles/bottles have sicker
needles, probes, and poisons that
persist to when we return to our
quieted doorways... they make us dragons.

Now Milady you stand with brave heart
pointed at my soul and sharp sword pointed
at my neck. I stand before you... a dragon.

Milady I awoke to your ashes dancing on the wind and running renegade on my skin, and I laugh because I wear my kin.
You paint me as a ghost.

Several others try but they make terrible hosts.
Attempting and failing to heal my dragoning soul when
I have no wish to open those barricaded quieted doors.

May I express my deepest desire to cry and have
my doors broken down, to have a special someone take
permanent residence in the quintessence within.