There was a serpent in me,
curling, asleep, at the bottom of a lake,
and the lake was deep and cold,
dark, still water where nothing would live,
nothing would cross or touch
the large, motionless, sharp scales.

Now, the serpent is awake outside,
feeding on lust, passion, and anger,
untamed, ungrateful, like the jinni,
to you, for waking her up not knowing.
Me, I step back and watch in wonder
the joy of long forgotten emotions.

Nothing arises from my will,
just observing the strong tides come and go,
like bright fresh lava to new senses,
new uninvented words, sounds meaning more
than the letters used to raise them,
for you released what should never be kept.

Time will come to call the dragon
and the fierce birds of fire
to fight for me in my chest,
where I keep safe, in secret drawers,
things never seen, never given,
never there to fill my days.

For dragons will be nothing but serpents
with the wisdom of open wings
and a ruthless breath of fire,
burning deeper than the flames we raise and fear.
I shall summon him to come to my help,
for I can only be the struggle of the beasts.