The creature of flight
scarcely hears the night
her wings flap against the sky
whispering to a skeleton dry
her horns are stained with the color of death
and most believe her naught but a myth
climbing on a huge molten rock
in her heart, her secrets lock
near her nest, she lets a gasp
breathing fire, her voice a rasp
this man, who dare enter her domain
ought he deserve to be slain?
are we humans truly pure?
then why do we hurt those who were?
the gorgeous creature, gone with a gust
who else can we blame but us?