Alone he stood upon a rotting throne
While orange beams bathed him in warm farewells.
Yellow, through a reed cloak, his gold eye shone.
It scanned the dark pools for throating nightly knells.
Not far between two tails the gold orb made
A stout green shape bawling into the dark.
Ghostly, the grey creeped up silent as a shade,
Slowly honing in on his warty mark.
CRACK! My foot broke through some hidden dry reed.
Quickly the green was gone with a quick mute splash.
Slowly grey turned to shine his orb at me.
Ancient fear welled beneath the still, cold flash.
I blinked, he was gone, away to the dark.
Cold sweat poured down, I awoke with a start.
(All images included in this and other entries on this site were taken by and belong to me)
All Images © 2013 Brian Lang
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