Ashes

Rage is enlightenment,
in dark, a flickering candle,
and in plenty, destruction,
exceedingly tough to handle.
We all behome darkness,
and so does the fire,
we are at its mercy,
after the will of our desire.

Dragons are real,
they live inside us.
They are the warmth of your heart,
the energy of your soul,
the spark of your charm,
like burning hot coal.
They feed on your rage,
and bleed destruction,
no you cannot cage,
when they exhale fire.
And no one is to be spared,
no culprit, no innocent,
if they escape the fragile shell of your body.
Cause they'll hatch like birds,
and duel with each other,
flying out of your reach,
and all what you would see
would be,
orange fire,
blinding bloody red.
Insane killing white,
and one by one,
the worldly shapes,
would be ashes black,
darker than the darkness you behome
spread all along in your view,
and you'll perceive it as the illusion,
but horror to your belief,
you'll know,
that,
Dragons are real.