might I be the slumbering lumbering dragon
content to nap-a-longly upon my hoard
acquired from years of work or
as my largess buttressed by my comfort in excess
coiled up in satin-silk-sheets infused with softest down,
holed up deep in my cavern
safe from the wrath of seasons
from the desires of children
content to snooze away the days
living in lucid dreams, for why not
have I not
earned this respite
but too comfortable, have I become
as the world outside
creates new wonders past my eyes-
but the real strength now
is to arise,
or die in bones
in this self laden tomb
fierce fangs nobb’d to naught
internal fire burnt to drought
alone with gifts no longer sought-
’tis not youth I seek
just once again to greet
the path
of a new dawn, a new light
with these jaded faded eyes so they once more
can dazzle azure bright alight – in wonder – at this world.