As a boy, he would play the games

That grown-ups once feared.

He pretended to fight pirates,

(And dig up treasure).

He pretended all the monsters

Of the many worlds

Were all out to get him at once,

(And he fought them off).

He pretended that vampires came

To suck out his blood,

But the vampires never showed up,

(And he forgot them).

But out of everything he played,

To himself, at least,

Comfort sat in the fantastic,

Even the horrid,

And he made his own treasure spots

(Because there were none).

And he still fought back the monsters

(Because they iwere/i real.

Or at least to him they sure were,

Though it was secret).

And the vampires never arrived

(Because they were dust).

And he loved the world and its ways

(Because he would say

That everywhere there be dragons).

And who could argue?

Adolescence taught him much

He didn't care for.

The other kids told him often

That there was no gold,

That monsters were merely shadows

Buffed up by his dreams,

And that vampires had long been dead,

Turned to dust for years.

And he accepted all these things

And forgot the spots

That he had marked with big Xs.

There were no pirates,

And he knew this as simple fact,

Though it hurt him so.

But he often told the cynics,

Though monsters are fake

And treasure hunts are just not real,

One thing is still true:

That everywhere there be dragons,

And who could argue?

He became an adult, with bills,

And three bank accounts,

And a house with three great big floors,

And a wife and kids,

And everything one would believe

An adult to have.

And when people asked him questions

About his success,

He could only tell them plainly

He always believed.

But life had become difficult,

The monsters caught up,

The treasure was still long buried,

And the vampires' lust

Was quenched on his plentiful blood.

(He couldn't see them,

But he felt them sapping at life.

He asked himself things

In the deep night when thoughts were real,

Or at least to him.

There were great things in the world still,

Greater than himself,

But he had forgotten them now.

And the answer came.

He had always known it, really,

But now he iknew/i it.

There were not dragons everywhere,

Nor could he tell friends

Any longer that they were here.

There be dragons, though,

And he knew it, if no one else.

They were inside him,

And he never could quite picture

Life without dragons.

He told his wife these things one day,

(And she just mocked him),

And he became quickly aware

Of everything wrong

With today's speedy, grown-up world.

It was too speedy,

And everyone living in it

Often failed at life

(Because there's nothing to believe).

To answer his wife,

Who thought so little of his dreams,

He told her plainly

That everything in that (their) house

Was a gift from them,

That the golden lamps were dug up

From some lost booty,

And that the vampires built the ground

He walked on daily.

Inside of me, he told her once,

Certainly there be

At least one ruffle-winged, fire-breath,

Magical dragon.

He told her that, in words long dead:

Here, there be dragons.

She could not argue.