Mirth of Merlin

The breath of the dragon fills everything as it rolls down the mountain It drains down into its trenches to find a soft spot under the face of the river For it has many times and a time on end again been lost upon its sides To the village the river runs with a Celtic Tavern dressed in royal fern Its façade harbors supreme coatings of pearly dew in moss Its peaceful resting in the moonlit glow sails it through the slits of the soft planks Dragon's breath hangs in the smog of charred herbs, the stale minds of men For the harp and the lyre both meet there by drum and cymbal Upon the Pictish stage draped in thick purple curtains, velvet shades suede and black Enters grand drama per terror from the opening line, candle light Smokey red spotlight delight And a man sits by his dim lit book at night He writes the lines to the script when he imagines right There is a movement and a twist each time the Dragon goes spastic or has a spasm Merlin takes in the mirth that affords the musical exorcism And the mind-less savagery of script-less lives leaves much for cacophony; For the wining whiny to keep on living.

CuldeSac

What are words without understanding and what is understanding without sense?

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