The Daily Poem

THE DRAGON SLAYER’S DREAM

Over and under and onto the lips of a

   cinnamon whisper repeating my name,

Lying in treasure retrieved from the dragon who

   ranges no longer with sulfurous flame,

Bathed in the sweetness of feminine wonder and

   drunk with the splendor of victory’s fame,

Bring me the night with a draft of intoxicants

   poured by the hand of a delicate dame.

Mine is the somnolent comfort of warriors who

   back from their battles just barely alive,

Bandaged and soothed by remarkable maidens whose

   natural endowment has made them revive.

Mine is the knowledge incredibly strange that a

   man such as I could endeavor and strive,

Facing the dragon that no one could conquer and

   betting by Thunder I’d never survive.

Here in the hall of the heroes and saints who by

   virtue and might everlastingly stay,

Wreathed in the garlands of demigod glory and

   ever with honor receive what they may,

Nothing forbidden to heighten the senses and

   dazzle the mind in euphoria’s play,

Leave me to drown in this heaven of incense with

   never another behemoth to slay.

~ D. Edgar Lamp (Monorhyme)