The Dragon

The beast returned, as she always did, when the sadness grew too great inside her. The people of the land did not know what angered her so, perhaps it was of no fault of their own, but still she came, there was no telling when. And when she appeared like smoke across the sky she brought with her nothing but desolation for she could not allow anyone to be happy whilst she was sad.

And in the end there was only sorrow, for the beast had turned bitter through and through.
So poisoned by her paranoia, her lies and self-pity that her heart had swollen black.

She took no help when it was given, and bit those who offered love,
and wondered why the world was hard, when she tripped on her own tail.

Where anger had been allowed to flourish, she could now not live without it,
She sought the things that injured her, the fight that need not have been fought.

The people watched from the valley, fearing her a little less,
They watched her thrash around in anguish, and they felt pity.

She could not harm them the way she harmed herself,
They were happy, they knew love, even when their world was on fire,
Her fire, it brought her no happiness at all.

And as the last of her shimmering scales turned to dust,
She burnt away the last of her light,
Until she was nothing.