The red dragon dives through the night,
Eating or killing those below,
Seems like fifty years without light,
The scared young man approaches slow.
Twilight village, quiet morning,
His statement nailed on a pole hangs,
The first daylight soon adorning,
"I quit your dark Communist gang."
Police bang hard at his locked door,
A small baby begins to cry,
An empty dish breaks on the floor,
No one bothers to ask them, "Why?"
Burning flesh and muffled screams fill,
The Communist labour camp walls,
Trying in vain to break his will,
Outside red leaves begin to fall.
Looking straight in the dragon's eyes,
Others try to run away fast,
In its mouth a poor victim dies,
The young man's thoughts of death have passed.
The camp guard looks in the man's eyes,
Freedom and blood stuck on his face,
The sickened guard tries not to cry,
"We should throw him out of this place!"
Half alive on a Beijing street,
Two directions that one might go,
Already on his shoeless feet,
What good is a sword that is slow?
Bright village on a bustling day,
Returning like a floating soul,
Everyone has something to say,
Twenty statements are on the pole.
How easy it seems to remove,
The red dragon's huge ugly head,
Looking back now it seems to prove,
The great fear was all in his head.
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Poem: The Red Dragon Slayer
3 March 2006