I know what you’re thinking. You’ve already posted this one.
Okay, maybe not. No one remembers this poem most likely.
I was looking through some of my old first drafts of poetry, cringing at how bad some of it was, when I noticed one that I was very proud of at the time was lacking.
So I fixed it.
I’ll put the original on top, and the new one underneath. Let me know what you think about the improvements or if you think it was better before. 🙂
Dragon of Storms (Original)
When I was younger,
I met a dragon made of storms.
With his gravelly voice composed of thunder,
He told me about his dismal existence
Of solitude in the skies.
I watched his eyes flash with lightning
As he bagged against weather reports.
The colors of his dark, dreary, charcoal scales shifted,
Showing patterns of cloud movement.
As he spoke of storms and destruction,
His wings beat breeze into gusts.
Tears fell from his lightning eyes
In regret from his destructive nature.
Those tears became the rain,
And as I studied this dragon of storms,
Life sprang up at his feet.
Grass, crops, flowers, tree saplings.
I tried to show the dragon
The life behind his destruction,
But he could not see the life within himself,
For he was too distracted by the storm.
Dragon of Storms (Revised)
When I was younger, I met
a dragon of storms.
He regarded me coldly as I stared in wonder
at his ridged, shifting scales. I couldn’t help
but ask him what it was like to live
with the type of power that wind could blow
away in an instant.
His gravelly voice was made of thunder
that boomed and shook the air into
electricity. He spoke of solitude
in the skies like a rain cloud aching
to let go.
Lightning flashed through his yellowed
irises like a lightbulb illuminating
an interrogation room. The colors of
his scales shifted from light grey swirls
to dreary charcoal, and back again.
Patterns of cloud movement sketched
across dragon skin.
His words of destruction pierced the
static as claps of thunder, while his
wings beat the breeze into gusts.
Self-loathing overtook his tone as the
lightning flashed again. Tears fell,
more buckets than drops, to the ground
with splashes that drenched my skin
beneath my raincoat.
Those tears became the rain as I
studied this dragon of storms. At his feet
plants sprung to life, drinking his grief like
they had never been watered in the
I tried to show the dragon
the life behind his destruction, the
creation trapped in his decomposition,
but he couldn’t see the life within himself,
when he was distracted by the storm.
I won’t take the time to point out what I changed and what I kept–I wouldn’t want to insult your poetic intelligence. I thought that at the least, seeing the end result of my revision might help someone else figure out their own revision steps.
Let me know what you think in the comments!
Thank you for reading! Have a lovely day! ❤