In the cave, powerful and unknown,
ready to come out, devour and return;
the scaly serpent with evil intent,
ancient, all sensing, from hell he is sent.
Or so it used to go.
And then the knight in all his glory
spears that serpent in the gut, cuts off his head
rescues the maiden, leaves him dead.
There is another way to see it
as if all the players are you,
the landscape your life scape,
the time eternal playing through.
Here, the dragon all your selfish desires
accumulated in the dark, their breeding ground,
then bursting out to grab and burn,
returning with the found.
But in the famous picture with St George on his horse
both tower over the angry one, stopped in his tracks,
the knight’s eye fixed on him, the spear poised on his skin
he’s out of his cave and can’t get back in
There is no victor, everything is tenuous.
The dragon is not killed but held in check,
the maiden tied by a slender thread is not yet free
the knight is powerful yet watching still.
In all a strange harmony, held together with a will.