The Dragons of Smaller Dens
Just something I've written in the past month or so. The idea came up when I was thinking about a story involving dragons. Just how would their social strata and economy work? In many portrayals, dragons are hoarders of precious gems and treasures. If dragons hoard and live as long as they are portrayed to, then what do they leave behind for future generations? What is depicted here is just a snippet of what I imagined when I thought of the poverty that might exist in such a world.
In summary, it's a short poem I pulled out of my ass once upon a midnight dreary. Enjoy.
There is salt on the dragon's syringe,
They will sample electric lozenges
On scorpion countertops.
The hatchling will look up from cave doodling.
He will ask,
"Mother, must we hold on to the pumice?"
She will stroke the scales of the bastard.
"Caress the edge, my son,
There were never any pearls for us."
Her tongue serrated,
The kiss will tickle him,
So he might not hold her to her word.