Dynasties

My huge skull a cage of curved teeth,

I shall have my fill, shred flesh.

I grind the bones of young and old, feast

deeply: a terrible lizard, it is said.

I stalk this swamp, smelling the air

for the stink of my prey or decaying flesh.

Clumsily, I trundle and comically scare:

my arms prongs, but a terrible jaw to impress.

The outlook for this evening is moderate to fair;

I love this temperate clime, it’s twilight now.

The blackness strung above me is an inky blare

pocked with a thousand dead eyes, rolled white, staring down.

But lo, something comes, approaching like a ghost.

The horizon is tipped with light, though not by the lantern of the Sun.

A seam of fire splits the sky, descending parasite to host,

though I am not quickened, too dumb to run.

Somewhere far ahead a lightshow erupts:

plumes of white light reign up, spirits, angels,

suspended far above for the sky to cup.

But soon they rain down in sharp deadly angles.

I dumbly twist my head from side to side:

all is noise and desperation, cries and flight.

And soon I hear a rumbling, a guttural cry -

like the bellows that come with my tender bite.

The noise increases, the horizon grows dark:

a grey wall of ash washes over the land;

shoulder to shoulder as myriad beasts in march,

a dark and infinite all-consuming hand.

As fire rains down, as stars fall from the sky,

I see a small furry creature scuttling to its hole.

I think, ‘I wouldn’t touch you with yours, why

do you run so with your puny bones and skull?’

As I look upon this creature, a vision flashes across my mind:

I see a small shape ascending a tree,

and after eons and ages of geological time

it descends again, larger, with an axe on its knee;

and mirrored in the approaching vortex of swirl,

whose hot breath seems to lap at my skin,

I see it writ, I am man: destroyer of worlds.

Then I’m taken into the obscure, dark wind.