Copyright 2010 Roberta Osborn. All rights reserved.
My Poetry
Meredith's Dragon
There was, in the fire of the Dragon,
The burning of superfluity,
The projection of purity,
The ferocity of the self-maker.
Who finds no end in the small spaces,
Who breathes into the infinite beyond.
There was, in the talons of the Dragon,
The gripping of tenuous truth,
The holding of prospective spirit,
The indicator of the many paths,
For she who denied no path,
For she who stepped, awakening.
There was, in the scales of the Dragon,
Iridescence that never compromised,
While flashing the laws of nature,
Playing games with interference,
The flint of innocence
For the impervious soul.
There was, in the wings of the Dragon,
The power of arising to glide at liberty,
To soar with joy of effort,
To land unerring on what mattered,
The matter being bedrock
For the searcher of God.
