From mouths of dragons, which, of course, aren't and never were,
Shoot the flames which burn young and old on a Chinese square.
Cold must be the hatred and the hurt, cold unto death, that concrete cold, cold of stone.
Here a fence of cold stone and metal and blood built between brothers.
Long and looped about the lives of all within runs the gateless fence,
Gateless, ruthless, merciless and never ending curtain of iron resolve.
But part of the cold wall is weakened, true though it be that most still stands,
The curtain has been pierced through and weakened by blood and flaps now with freedom's wind.
...Yet, brooding in his cave, the dying dragon plots revenge.
March 1991
