Dragon's Hoard

A prose poem about creativity, and keeping it alive.

We will sit outside and stir and sip our tea so oblivious when the forgotten thoughts resurface without a word or bell. Our hot evenings spent indoors will be nights of unnecessary and unspoken prayer. A dragon is going to take our minds away and keep them pressed to his belly. The dragon's belly is hot too. But hot with contained fire that will incubate not burn. Our forgotten thoughts will eventually get tired of the silence, naturally, and will then decide that the dragon is the opportunity. They will rest on his scales and find home amongst diamonds. Sapphires will be whittled into indigo ideas and the dragon will watch on with precious smile of pearl. The unshielded white of his teeth will become part of everything. Stones blossoming into rubies and emeralds will only add to the festivities and when our thoughts are bored of dragons they will catch the next train home and our tea will have turned sour. But every other fire-breather likes the tang of metal. Or at least that's what I tell myself.