Water of Life

Rain falls in noisy
              sheets drenching parched dry earth where
      a seedling wakes up
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How are you?

Brows furrowed in consternation,
reschooled, rearranged into too bright a smile.
“You look fantastic! You look so much better now!”
follows all too quickly

A shuffling of feet. when can i politely take my leave?
without seeming rude, ungrateful,
without causing worry, offense?

“Are you resting enough?
How are you feeling?
Are you eating well?
Are you back to normal?”

i mumble something or other,
eager to get away from
the concerned glances that are shot my way.

Am i fine?  i feel fine.
But i guess
the scalp peeking out from my closely cropped mane,
the scar adjacent to my lip, mostly faded, but still mocking,
the shadows under my no longer sunken eyes,
hinting at darker days

surprise, shock, evoke concern & sympathy
from those i chancely encounter.

I am fine.

Where are the Dragons?

Shhhh … under the bed.
Is the dragon under the bed?
Look! Look!
Oh… he’s not there.

Maybe he’s off flying through a deep blue sky
Searching for his next quarry, his next meal.
Flying free, flying fast,
Watchful for anything that
Moves far below him.

Shhhh … in the closet.
Is the dragon in the closet?
Look! Look!
Oh … he’s not there.

Maybe he’s fighting a knight,
All shiny, metal-tasting and clanky,
Toying with this quarry, with this next meal.
Fighting free, fighting strong,
Invigorated by the challenge of this champion.

Shhhh … outside the window.
Is the dragon outside the window?
Look! Look!
Oh … he’s not there.

Maybe he’s lying amidst his hoard, in his far off cave
Full of treasure, twinkling like stars in the darkness.
Heaving, gasping for his next breath.
Fighting free, fighting long.

Where have all the dragons gone?
They have left our our skies, our lands,
our deepest, darkest corners.

The Dragonslayers, conniving, skilled,
insistently memorising the face of each mesmerising dragon,
hunting them down mercilessly.

The end of legend,
the end of imagination,
the end of possibility.

The Dragons are driven out, one by one,
pursued, desperate, cornered,
until They have no choice but to grow up.

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