The ashen dragon drifts above the golden city and I follow with my composite wings of steel and brass, built without gloves—unoffered— to shield my wrists from the blood my mechanisms conjured in bites and rips. This blood I now refuse to quell rains upon the regime that withheld resources, hypnotized the masses to accept…
Across the sky Against the ground My spirit sighs, pants, pumps wings like those of a large bird too heavy to keep pace with smaller tits. Across the sky Against the ground Look up and see a phoenix burning bright defiance but the eruption that begat the firebird hollowed out the past. Across the sky…
Cross my heart And hope to rise; My demon's reaching For the skies To find the fate I once adored, Which angels ripped From my soul's core: A feather feast Of Nature born — Mut'ed magic, Heaven-scorned. Photo by luizclas on Pexels.com
National Poetry Writing Month
Keeping the world immersed in stanza.
About fantastical places and other stuff
"The silence of the night awakens my soul"
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Saralyn Caine Poetry 