Poetic Justice

[Dragon]

[align=center]A Long, Dark, Lyrical

Aloft above majestic tundra, glistening with ice

Spawns a tempest, wreaking havoc on this paradise

My trusted craft is plunging with its yoke white-knuckle gripped

No longer in command, I fall on wings that have been clipped.

Crawling from the wreckage bares the fact that I’m alive

But leaves me in the quandary of; “How will I survive?”

Exuberance now faded, given way to something dire;

I’ve exited the frying pan into an icy fire.

I shiver and I tremble in the grasp of frigid wind

And contemplate; this punishment’s for that of which I’ve sinned

It howls through the branches as I cringe beneath its whip

Compared to Death’s, I wonder, who would have the colder grip?

I clamor up a hillside till I’m nearly out of breath

Self-preservation drives me in evading my own death

The thought of which more chilling than an arctic gale is such

That I will soon be feeling the pervasive reaper’s touch

Trudging through the driven snow, I travel yon and hither

Wishing I could load up ten more pounds before I wither

The cars keep changing colors, must be something with the light

Purple, brown, blue, and green, questioning my sight

What happened to the denizens? What drove them from their home?

All I find are corpses in the areas I comb

I fear the worst is yet to come. I know I’ve been forsaken

When I cannot find hide nor hair of Canadian bacon

Searching ever diligent for all I can procure

My circumstance has shaken me down to my very core

Hoarding all the goods I find in each abandoned premises

My travels bring me face to face with yet another nemesis

Brandishing my torch against the wolf, I scream and shout

Then whimper in the sudden darkness, as the flame blows out

Merciless, it lunges forth, snarling maw of fangs

But I will be the one to satiate their hunger pangs

 

Sheathed upon my belt I draw a stalwart gleaming blade

And fight the beast until my execution has been stayed

Thankful for some canine meat preventing me from starving

I dress my wounds; I lick my chops, and thusly start the carving

Facing my mortality I take an inward look

Only finding solace in fillet of fresh Chinook

Often times I wonder how I set upon my feet

Knowing that I just consumed eleven pounds of meat

Another storm is rolling in; I must pick up the pace

But every time it seems the wind is blowing in my face

What better way to further slow my short encumbered stride

Than a good old fashioned spraining of my ankle and my pride

Could it be the end of days for all humanity?

Isolation preys upon my fading sanity

Stranded in a place that’s set upon by glaciation

Another day alive is the extent of my salvation

Fog is thickly overspreading all there is to see

And so that’s not a boulder up ahead in front of me

Black and rearing up it bellows out a growling bray

I gave 9-0-9 from my 3-0-3, but it mauled me anyway

There’s nothing left worth searching, save the fabric of my soul

There’s nary a suspicion as for whom the bell doth toll

Crimson stains the snow, is how in life I leave my mark

What matter is it after sinking into The Long Dark?[/align]

[align=right]Dragon[/align]

[bethany]

Wow, fantastic! Good imagery...Definitely brought some of my own experiences to mind. Thanks so much for sharing.

[jasmine_j]

Beautifully written, engaging and resonating, I absolutely loved it!