Dragon Slayer

She’s handed a sword,
told it’s the only way.
She begs to differ,
spangles the creatures

in glorious array. They
have longed to be
exquisite in their
own skins for years,

tired of regret and tiers
of scales that can
-not shine. They find
they are not lost, just too

darkest hour-dipped in this
medieval sky. She sets
them loose again, ties
them only with one invisible

string, a note that holds
their hope, a living,
embered thing:
You’re beautiful. Shine.


In November, we poem. This is the one with all the prompts. 


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3 Responses to Dragon Slayer

  1. Shawna says:


    That “tiers” usage was pure genius.

Use your words.

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