On a whim, the idea’s
began to swim.

Every word, every line
I began to write my rhyme.

I became passionate and
insain, as I spit out my ink.

Like a fire breathing Dragon,
my poetic passions burned
from within,
waiting to burst forth from the poet within.

Every moment I waste,
I now foresee,
a fragile quill
an ink pen,
scratching the parchment
with its eagle like claws.

Soon the Dragon within me
will bleed out from beneath my skin.
I then will write my poetry,
releasing the Dragon within me.