Those hills,
Those are his vertebrae,
The flowing grass and clover stalks
Are his shimmering green scales,
And the rocky outcroppings? The gravel?
Those are battle scars,
From wars waged with humans,
long ago.
That is until we tamed them,
we built our castles strong and sturdy,
upon their impervious backs
we plowed them and watered them,
We put them to sleep.
So now they quietly slumber,
Dreaming of the days when man fought for his life,
When great battles were lost and won,
by strong, courageous men,
not by people in suits and ties.
They dream of rising up once again,
shaking their hard shackles off,
uprooting the fences and barbed wire,
destroying the vineyards and orchards,
undoing mankind's proof of existence,
leveling our anthill and freeing us from our queen.
making this land wild again,
and starting anew.
They dream of chaos.
And who knows?
Maybe we will accidentally unleash the dragons once again,
and be forced to prove,
our very right to exist.
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