Poems that Resonate Kintype-wise

when they tamed you, when they made you,
they took something wild and feral and said:
‘this is how you walk among men,
this is how you pass as one:
this is how you stand, how you sit,
this is how you eat and talk.
(do not growl, do not bare your teeth:
you are no longer just beast, you are now man as well).

‘this is when you bite and when you tear,
this is when you purr and sit docile.
(you are a pet, a weapon: we forged you into what you are now.)
this is how you make them think you are helpless,
(bare your throat, not your teeth: tilt your head back.
show submission and bide your time).
and this is how you tear out their still-beating heart.’

what they did not account for is that when you forge a weapon,
when you take something feral and give it the mask of man,
you must never forget what you started with.

--their blood is on your hands now, and you smile at the moonless sky with blood matted in your hair. (CNS)

Look,
said the dragon,
don’t tell anybody, but
I don’t think I believe in stories.

Yesterday I clipped down my wings.
I didn’t like them, they hurt,
the way they scraped against the cave;
I was too wide for its walls
or else there was too much treasure lining its floor—
goblets and gems, coins and coronets—
so I said
either the gold goes, or I do.
I think I went.

All right, Sir Knight, I know you’ve come to kill me.
When are you going to get it over with?
My lungs are full of fire
and my heart is acid and bone. Tell me
that’s all. Tell me I’m fine.
Tell me I’m supposed to feel this way.

I’m not young
but not that old, surely; I’ve got years left of destruction,
pillaging, rampages, a princess or two.
I think the fields of England
are still green.
Yesterday, when my wings were clipped
against my sides, I thought:
I could live like this.

Come on, Sir Knight, what are you waiting for?

I suppose the princess must be pretty;
they always are.
Hair like gold, I hope,
and eyes like the ocean. You’ll have to watch out for her.
Girls who are sold in exchange for a murder,
they know their own worth. They don’t tame.
We’re alike that way.

Your armor is old, Sir Knight, and rusty.
You didn’t come better prepared?
It’s no matter. Don’t worry; I won’t bite.
Docile as a lamb, me. Come closer.

When you slide the sword in
make it quick, don’t linger.
You’re the hero triumphant
and I’m giving you a happy ending
but after all this time, even you should know
nothing in this world comes free. Here’s your end of the bargain:
have mercy.

After all, what’s the difference between this
and a love story?

Once, not long after I was hatched,
I got it into my head to fly as high as I could.
The day was warm—
it must have been summer—
and the sky was made of nothing but sunlight.
Below me, your island
was emerald and brown. There were rivers.
I don’t think I’ve ever been so alone
or so unlonely.
--St. George’s Eve, by swanjolras

I am dark as the night, and furious as the primeval nightmares that have haunted the hearts of Men.

I am the Dragon that plunders virgins and touches their deepest desires, I am the Killing Shadow that haunts dark corners of untamed power.

You birthed me. In sterile white with glowing electric light and noisy machinery and artificial wombs. You gifted me killing claws, sawing teeth, shivering quill-barbs.

I am Perfection. Bulletproof, fast, flexible, intelligent, with echolocation and sharp eyes. I can outpace any silly machine, outcompete any apex predator, decimate any foolish hunter.

I am Free.

I am Indomintable.

And I am Hungry.

Genetic mastery born in pale rooms, supercooled tubules, splicing molecular blades.

Ritualistic stones carved from ebony stratum, arranged in holy circles, blessed by primeval energies.

Fossil skeletons adorn the pillars, the cathedral, the halls, the laboratories, the sanctums. Golden-geode bones whispering down countless aeons.

Canticle praises sing resurrection prayers in science and magic.

They wish to summon something. Something vast. Something terrible. It’s behemoth bones stretch across a megalithic tomb, splayed in divine death pose, endless jaws open forever. Claws reaching, talons splayed, tail curved overhead. A dragon god. Waiting down the ages for new flesh, revitalized blood.

A God will be reborn.

Soon…

Soon..

Soon.

Now.