There is more to the story of us
than we have told each other,
than we have found back
in old family photo’s,
in our genes, in rituals
Hidden in dark caves and old riverbeds
some creatures live that we don’t know
and where they started their journey,
or if they fit in that of our own,
remains to be seen.
Still we think of them and call them dragons.
Nothing we know of this,
is true or false, as we can’t judge,
there is no beginning nor end
and still it’s a story.
We live in it, slowly turning the pages,
making poems about it.