I found a good one recently. Â Bit longish though. Link to the source and authors at the end of it here:
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.
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.
![[Image: tumblr_mjwxnlcz6Q1rl52wjo2_500.gif]](https://33.media.tumblr.com/224cfbd6e79103f0520a30eabfc5085d/tumblr_mjwxnlcz6Q1rl52wjo2_500.gif)
