Close your eyes, drug your senses,
feel the wind scorch your face,
cling on tight, ready for our fight
as our dragon soars over forests of war;
as we cling to his scales, vibrate from his roars
smell the sulphur engulf us as clouds
open fire, their acid-rain melting
through airplanes and drones
that attack with dictatorship,
hatred and fear.
Religious fervour wears au-de-murder:
Children rotting, limbs detached,
innocent heads hang from the trees,
drip-feed the earth as Vitamin Pain.
Women weep, raped and beaten;
eyes hollow, they pray
for death’s hand on their throat.
As our dragon soars
and roars and snarls,
our growing Eutopia
is suddenly Outopia;
as our dragon swoops low
he spits fire at the beasts
that demolish our peace,
our power, our time.
He tears them to ribbons
with claws glistening red;
he crunches on bones
with fangs sharp as razors.
Their screams die half-formed,
as we tremble with rage.
Too late we land and stand
in the massacre
of our people, our friends,
our freedom, our hope.
Copyright © 2017 Hannah Edge. All rights reserved.
Image rights: sashulka.deviantart.com/art/Dragon-s-flight-402283943