The Last Dragon


I have forgotten my name.

It was among the first stirrings of wakefulness that I heard it, felt it, a resonance within my being, and at its utterance I came to be. I was awakened then, before I was, from a dreamless eternal slumber by a whisper, a voice in the swirlings of Chaos, a pure and perfect melody upon which the lyric of my name was carried. That was then, before my becoming, before I returned to my slumber many ages later, only to be awakened again. This time was different: I was taken from my rest by a hum – a dull roar that in its persistence crept into my dreams and slowly, relentlessly pried me from them. But there was no name to be heard, save the word lost in a world-song that had forgotten it and drowned out its melody.

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A Muse of Fire


“It burns!” she screamed. “Please! Please! No more!”

He was stoic, flames dancing in the reflection of his black eyes.

“Please!” Her screams turned to sobbing as shock settled in. The pain was ending on its own, but she still knew she was dying. And she knew he was letting her.

“You told me you loved me…” she rasped, looking at him through the smoke and flames engorging her. The betrayal was written in her eyes, along with regret; he didn’t even blink.

He stood motionless, hands folded behind his back, watching as she burned. Outwardly, he gave no sign of remorse, no sign of compassion, no sign of joy. Nor was there any sign of anger. On the inside though, he was a storm raging as violently as the flames consuming her. When her wings caught they flared, hot and bright like a dying star, a final brilliant flash of the light she was made of, reminding him of the light he once knew. Vibrant, painful memory washed over him: moments of passion and life and love and joy quickly replaced with the shadow of lies, deception, manipulation, and betrayal. He purged his thoughts and focused on the pyre before him. Flame subsided and gave way to smoke rising up from smoldering ashes and embers.

It was done.

“I do.”



Copyright © 2015 Rob Salem. Redistribution in any form, including digital, print, or audio is expressly prohibited without written consent. For publication and permissions queries, email

A Comment

Everyone’s waging a war of the moment
Modern crusades without thought component
Movements led by priests and their zealots
All for the cause and in praise of the harlot

Destroy hate with hate without understanding
Burn it all down we need a rebranding
Sacrifice all to get rid of the one
It’s always the pacifist holding the gun

But we in our mercy and tolerant ways
Have banners to carry and standards to raise
Convert or die, repent and be saved
You’re part of the problem if you’re not with the grain

History’s death comes under the heel
As does the soul if you differently feel
Balance of power swings with the mob
Revolution means heads come off

And on the winds of sweeping change
Ashes and dust are all that remain
Of the fires and pyres that raged untamed
We’ll never learn not to do it again

Because History Is Cooler Than Fantasy:

Valkyrie T-Shirt by The Stormworks

Valkyrie T-Shirt by The Stormworks

I’ve made this “Valkyrie” (or Norse female warrior) t-shirt design available on Teespring.

(The mock up above is different in scale than the actual shirt, due to print limitations, but I like the Teespring link better.)

The text on the back is a bit of verse from Darraðarljoð, or the Weaving Song of the Valkyries, and reads:

“Now Warwinner walketh
To weave in her turn,
Now Swordswinger steppeth,
Now Swiftstroke, now Storm;
When they speed the shuttle
How spearheads shall flash!
Shields crash, and helmgnawer
On harness bite hard!”

It is available at the following link:

Thanks for looking!

This place I never meant to find,

this time I never meant to be in,

holds me against my will

and I linger longer than a moment

in years gone past and lost;

it’s all I can do to not reach out,

to stretch out from the lonely dark

with fingers broken and bruised

from clawing at this prison of hope,

to see if you, if any part of you that

isn’t only memory now might be there–

but I know, to do so would be my folly,

and finding again the deafening roar

of an anger I’m not sure I deserve

I’d only retreat, defeated again by

the reality that is me,

the reality you created for me.

There was a time, a moment

when light and color–when you–washed away

all the greying shadow I cast in the world,

and melody takes me there far too often,

more than I’d like to admit,

but now…. now there is only me

and memory, thunderous and vibrant,

and painful, not for what it is,

but for what it no longer isn’t;

and this echoing silence fueled now

by rage and hate and the blame of

love misunderstood and cast aside

for lies that were never told

is all that remains of a forgiveness

that was asked for and offered

and then stripped away before it could breathe.


I wanted to write tonight,

to pull from the void

an expression of

the emptiness in me right now

and tell you how I feel,

to say something that mattered,

that might make a difference,

and change this moment

for both of us;

the problem is…

the void is just that,

and all I have to offer you

is nothing.