Sorcerer

Sorcerer

It came to pass on a wizard's wind,
in a bruised and broken sky,
through scorching fires of dragon's breath;
that the foulest beast would die.

With black-tipped wings of a warlock,
a hand like a griffin's claw,
from the magic of a dark moon stone
and the power of a leopard's paw.

Master of the sacred mountains,
keeper of the midnight fire
with the slickness of a serpent's tongue,
he was the dark night flyer.

He'd walk across a molten sea,
the flames were not his friend.
He'd smote the evil dragon's wrath
to a fiery bitter end.

Riding off on a bolt of lightning,
robe and beard of purest white,
he was the master sorcerer;
slaying dragons in the night.

© Copyright 2007 T.L.Finch (UN: t.l.finch at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
T.L.Finch has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.