each thought storms the calm, black waters,
an unarmed toy soldier is crushed inside a sand castle,
straddling a line across the dirt; beneath are rising pitch forks,
an angel with clipped wings, asks to dance,
my head yells\" TAME THE DRAGON. \",
pinching tingles rushes his veins; he stands contorted ,engulfed in after burn,
his flesh becomes scaley flames,
unscathed by the nerve incinerating pain,
undiminished by the furious rain,
he tames the mind; becomes the dragon in the wind,
guardian of his own head,
centered after breathlessness,
each steady deep breath; beckons it to near death,
the dragon is now slain.
only to rise,
only to fly,
only to conquer,
once again.