THE DRAGON WITHIN

It's been a bit of a washout today. Right now it's raining the way it does on Autumn evenings, setting in for the night as the sky fades from grey to black. Cars swoosh past, the streetlamps flicker on and the world settles down in front of soap operas and half-baked documentaries.

I've got the duvet down and my woolly hat on, snuggled up on the sofa. The TV remains mercifully off. The other day I controversially said it was like a sewage pipe plumbed into the wall - switching it on seems vaguely hypocritical now, even for an episode of Columbo.

I went to Sainsbury's to pick up some Bakewell slices and a pot of custard. I am, I thought, in Derbyshire after all. When I got to the checkout, I realised with horror that my wallet was in my shorts, which I was wearing under my jeans for extra warmth. There was no easy way to get it out.

"Have you got a Nectar card?" said the young man behind the till.

"Er, yep, just one second," I said, glowing red and reaching awkwardly into my jeans. I thought for a minute I would have to unzip and disrobe in the middle of Sainsbury's. Thankfully, I was able to avoid the embarrassment. He raised his eyebrows. I don't live here. I might go to Morrisons for the rest of the week.

I also walked through the park today. It was rather nice to see the carefully mown lawns, the delightful little fountains and the shady trees. The park here has a little train that runs through it too, which looked fun. I sat on a bench, watching the flowers and thinking about life. I wrote a poem.

I wanted to explain what it sometimes feels like to be a man. We are at war with ourselves sometimes, silently battling the forces which rage inside - not many people talk about it, but I suspect all of us are these quiet warriors. There are issues with this one - the odd rhyming scheme, the dangerous avenues. I think it's important though, at least to me and my battered old heart. So here it is:

The Dragon Within

The dragon burns with evil fire
This snarling beast of my desire

Within the embers of my heart

She practises her darkened art

She coils herself within the deep

To waken evil in my sleep

A flash of skin, a lock of hair

The treasure of the dragon’s lair

An open lidless roving eye

The scales that fall and wings that fly

Enchantment strong and magic, sweet

Where sin and beauty always meet

The dragon sings her song of old

So warm and low yet high and cold

And ancient men so brave, so bold

Lie crushed beneath her feet

The fire rages, fast and fierce

As punctured night is hotly pierced

The smoke, the flames, the agony

The terror washing over me

And who will rescue, who will see

The beast I fight inside of me?

Who will quench the dragon fire

The burning soul upon the pyre?

A trumpet sounds, a shout is heard

A single name, a single word

I see the glimmer of his blade

The sword of truth his father made

The dragon falls, the fire dies

He sees me fallen there and cries

Behind these bloodshot, tearstained eyes

The dragon-blood is paid