The Epic

Our heroine sets forth
determined eyes of brown
fixed on the horizon
where smoke sinister
mingles with morning mist
to slay the dragon
for the children's sake
is her mission
and the errand's weight
settles her in her saddle;
stabilizes against tempting winds
that whisper defeat.
She soon reaches her destination
(because the dragons we fight are never far)
and finds the beast uncurling it's shiny scales
Scales that rip into childish hearts with sarcasm and irritation
It unfurls it's razor sharp claws
Claws that deflate childish joy with one sharp touch of criticism
It roars it's fire-breathing roar of selfishness
A roar of fire that razes all desires but it's own and deafens childish ears to truth
So our heroine armed with
the Sword of the Spirit and
the Shield of Faith
does battle with the dragon
and the field is soon strewn
with angry actions atrophied
and wanton words that weren't.
Dusk finds her victorious
the scales, claws, and roar that could;
didn't.
And the children sleep,
unharmed; whole.
Peace reigns unmolested.
Our heroine washes her wounds
in the Word
and retires early
knowing tomorrow she must set forth
eyes fixed on the horizon
where smoke sinister
mingles with morning mist
because our dragons are never far
and the fight must be fought again
and again
for the children's sake.