Situations come,
brimming with succulent things,
and makes mouths water.
Nothing comes my way,
at least that is how I feel,
I hope I am wrong.
Wind doesn’t settle,
restless like the clouds above,
it ‘s ever moving.
The earth’s spinning round,
creating vortecies,
that circle the world.
A crime of passion,
leaves a scarred and heavy heart,
that will never heal.
The coffee mug steams,
proud and hot it knows it’s worth,
for this moment now.
Do dragons exist?
I counter, “Do you believe?”
And open a book.
Thick heavy pages,
slow turn to show images,
that will make you stare.
The dark ancient text,
runic and scribbled in black,
and sometimes in red.
It appears to change,
there before ytour very eyes,
and almost makes sense.
Dare you speak these words?
Uttering verses of old.
and feeling them grow.
Try and try again,
then it tips and goes too far,
so you must proceed.
It is now unlocked,
and the page begins to spin,
drawing you inside.
