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Young Writers Society


The Dragon



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Gender: Male
Points: 300
Reviews: 0
Sun Jan 15, 2012 3:42 am
lrrussell330 says...



The second that the clock struck noon
everyone stopped and stared
because every one of them knew
the dragon had entered his lair.

With a head of fire, a heart of ice
he crept closer to the line.
Then, out of his hideous eye
he spotted something that made him cry.

It look and sounded just like an angel
the dragon, angry and confused, turned and left
and as he did the conversation began again.
The next day the dragon was different.
What had this angel done with this hell-sent demon?

The dragon had changed all around.
His figure stood six feet above the ground
his head was barely still ablaze
but the fire inside had been tamed.
The scales of self defense are gone
all that's left is a human heart.
  





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Gender: Female
Points: 8363
Reviews: 182
Wed Jan 18, 2012 2:57 am
shiney1 says...



Very interesting poem here.

I was drawn to this because I absolutely love dragons. I saw that you described the dragon pretty well in the poem.

The first stanza was good, but not amazing. I mean, half the audience would stay, and maybe one-fourth would reluctantly read on, and they other fourth would just leave.
That means that your intro could be better. It needs to grab the audience, or your poem won't be read. That's just a big issue I saw here, because the middle of the poem is great.

That last issue I will address is the last line.

all that's left is a human heart.


It was kind of blunt and an unsatisfying finish to such a nice poem. You should not overdo it and make a long line that makes the rest of the poem look obsolete. Yet, you should not make that line alone obsolete. Try to spiff it up a bit :)

That's it from me, happy writing!
"If you ever have a problem don't say 'Hey God I have a big problem.' Rather 'Hey Problem... I have a big God and it's all going to be okay."
  








I think the best thing about making it into the quote generator is when nobody tells you, so one day you're just scrolling and voila, some phenomenally inane thing that crawled out of your dying synapses and immediately regretted being born the second it made contact with the air has been archived for all time. Or worse, a remark of only average inanity. Never tell me when you've put me in the generator. Pride-tinged regret just doesn't taste the same without the spice of surprise.
— SirenCymbaline