What happens when one is the victim standing
out in the front yard like a mangy old dog
and the heart cries: Don't slam the door, let
me in. I'm not the enemy you think I've been.

What happens when the system is closed and she cries
with stories untold, of false accusations and twisted .
motives from the accuser of her soul How can he think I'm the enemy in sorrow, she cries
when all my good intentions have been denied. He doesn't
see me as I really am: he's drowning in his world of the Dragon's Realm Trapped in the never ending cycle of avoidance and control
When he last felt the breath of fire and smoke, he knew
it was coming from HER, he swore. Forever fighting the dragon's increasing power over him
the wall, an impretable fortress: for him to understand
he'd have to leave his fort unprotected and confront his
fears and feelings of helplessness - the breath of fear
and the fire of rage, the smoke of powerlessness, protecting
him in his cave.
His enemy, the pardner he loved, knowing,but denying she loved him-
If only she could climb out of the Dragon's Realm. It wasn't her, his enemy within, it was that damned smoke fire
and breath of fear
that captured them hostages all those years.
And the stories go on, for centuries untold,
until one speaks of balm for the opressed, recovery
slowly begins, as cleansing water from the rushing
stream, brings forth the peace, freedom brings.