For they are real – as me and you,
As those who’ve slayed them ever knew.
Who drew their blood upon the sword
And slayed them.
What boyhood dream that fashioned sword
And lance and spear and wildly gored
That beast that lurks in corners dark.
To win the purest maiden’s heart.
What fire! What rage! That winged beast
Defeated by the soul at peace
For courage fights the beast within
And draws deeply from that well.
To guard that fortress of the heart
To sanctify by the purest of art.
From gloom into redemptive light
And banish foes to endless night.
For there will always be dragons, and there will always be those who slay them.
Paul Russell: Musings 