He sipped a cup, waited,
Like tea leaves plucked from a bush.
At last he spoke again,
His voice low, whispered music,
Like the singing of the pines,
Or the sea-foam polishing the rocks below.
My house was beset by demons, he began,
They smashed down the doors, tore at the roof,
Cracked the windows, broke the chimney,
Chanted and moaned through the dark hours,
Spat incantations, wicked oaths,
Poisoned my dreams,
Kept me from the sun,
Turned the warmth of my hearth,
Into nothing more than ash and embers.
I rebuilt the fire, fetched fresh water,
Summoned forth two mighty dragons,
From the South-East they came,
Black as coal, and emerald green,
They bathed in my pot,
Gave their life blood to my cup,
An elixir, a potion, an antidote,
As I drank, the monsters fled,
Back to the shadows,
The un-places between things,
Cast out, banished.
And in the grey zone’s wastes they sit and wait,
Eternally patient, ever watchful,
For a chance to steal, and bite, and scrape,
But I am calm, and never fearful,
For mighty dragons guard my gate.
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