Exhausted faces blackened,
The parchment map of their kind.
Each with fleshy cracked soot lines
Foot notes to the effort of composition.
A beast roars, baring its yellow fangs,
Consuming all that confront it.
A loosed monster clawing at life,
Hungry and demanding to be fed.
The frailty of simple humans challenge,
With baggy armor, with puny tools,
Come to wage war against the dragon,
Clashing in battle with Brigid’s spawn.
Thus the valiant one’s line is drawn,
Furrowed into the rich sacred earth,
Thrown into the cauldron of hell.
Fired by reaction with the elements,
This Promethean theft, copulating
With air and earth…Mother Nature violated.
The wail is not from joy…it is pain.
The writhing coils of its body expand,
Whipping across the night sky…taunting.
It spills down the flank of hills,
Searching, reaching, killing…it has wants.
In the end they will close its jaws,
Subdue and tame the creature,
Drowning it in its vulnerability.
Gaining strength in its death,
These water filled bags of skin,
They will learn from the serpent,
Until the next time it feeds.
Copyright: 2009, Donald Harbour