That Tiny Touch Of Heaven

When Dragons Fight

Composed some years ago in a webforum which no longer exists.

Members and the owner were engaging in an argument about which among them was the biggest and baddest character.

I found it silly at first and later annoying as it became protracted.

This was my response;

They are not necessarily metallic, or red, or green or blue,

A totally other dragon, of a very mystic hue.

They are the Sons of Heaven, and to Heaven owe their due,

From the Emperor of Heaven, do these dragons take their cue.

And their powers are divided, as responsiblitity.

Over sky, or cloud or mountain, or lake or stream or sea.

So the dragons all may argue over who's the strongest brute,

Yet the strongest on a mountain top, may rest and play a flute.

While below on less celestial planes, they rend themselves to shreds,

The dragons who should take the time, and hie to cooler heads.

For there's more to being 'Dragon', than just being big and bad,

Why dissappoint the Emperor, and make the Master sad ?

For within each dragon soul there is, a gift no dragon earns,

That Tiny Touch of Heaven, that lets dragons brightly burn.

So when dragon vanity shines bright, and snobbery prevails,

Recall the Emperor observes, our heads our souls our tails.

Der Floofinator suggests that if you enjoyed this, check out my other poetry