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Where Dragons Blaze

When he got the news that day, 

his mother had said,

“Quick, go to your room.”

The look on her face

Ashen and strained.

His father in a desert 

a world away.

Dead.

No, that’s not what she said.

How could it be?

His father the teacher, 

the everyday architect of his dreams.

“He’s not coming back.”

Her words like the steel grating

that pinned a formidable dragon hither.

His father the peacekeeper

In a world that couldn’t care less about peace,

somewhere on the edges of an alluvial fan in the shadow of a cave,

his father fell in the dust.

Returned to the earth.

His father the artist 

taught him to make

origami dragons.

Small, stalwart, 

the edges of their tiny hindquarters folded sharp.

Dragons, chiseled, tight

consumers of fire and flesh.

Afraid of nothing.

As he listened to the sounds of his mother’s melancholy voice, 

his mind racing to a spot where

sands shape souls.

He could create and call upon the creatures,

Veins carved into their serpentine being.

These immortal dragons, capable of conquering deserts,

devouring up the sediment evil 

and the impassive ignorance

of men at war.

origami-157698_1280

17 thoughts on “Where Dragons Blaze

  1. Powerful piece Lana! Sadly, all too familiar these days. This line was most poignant to me: In a world that couldn’t care less about peace. Sad. 😦

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