what’s left
Linda M. Crate
you told me once
i didn’t have a temper,
do you feel it now?
in the flames of my immortal
wings?
or perhaps in the fires of my dragons?
i know you must feel the heat
of my rage
i haven’t quite disguised it
does it disquiet you?
or do you think you will quiet me
with sweet honeyed words
full of insincerity?
silver tongued devil,
i know the fangs of your
death and darkness,
but i do not despair because
you have not yet met my monsters;
i will destroy your darkness
with all of my light
and the heat of the fangs of my monsters
will destroy what’s left.