III. Personal Mythos

III. Personal Mythos

Where memory and identity are reframed through mythic storytelling, through poems shaped to make sense of change.

Part of the Ruinkeeper dragon poetry collection.

Poems in this quadrant:

– Bone Dragon
– a grandmother’s story
– Vintage Lego
– Treasurekeeper
– starlit
– The Dragon of Toa Payoh
– Eclipse
– Soilbound Spells
– Anarokh Alley
– Etched in Stone
– Unapologetic Rain
– Savasana

Available in an eBook, audio narration via YouTube, and below here on Dragonsinn.

݁.𖠰 ݁↟

1. eBook (PDF)

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2. YouTube

Will be narrated soon.

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3. Poems

1. Bone Dragon

The dragon peered over his shoulder
As he eyed himself in the mirror
I can help fulfill your every desire
“For real?”
As real as whatever sets your heart on fire

At first, it started slow
Almost undetectable, no one would know
How far do you want to go
“I want it all”
Everyone compared to you will be kept down below

Each power move towards ascent
Never wondering where his morals went
What do you have to say?
“I want more”
You’ll have it all your way

The dragon got stronger, bone by bone
As his body wore down in muscle and tone
It’s been good holding you ransom
“I—”
On to the next fresh victim

⋆˚꩜｡

2. a grandmother’s story

she liked being on her own
even as a little girl,
running off into the woods
singing with the birds
they branded her a wench 
before she knew what desire was
her long hair turned heads
her solitude stirred rumours
they branded her a witch
for dancing in the woods
making offerings to the Dark Prince
(she’d left water and crumbs for the birds)

the stone in her pocket
burned brighter by the minute
almost searing through the fabric
but she kept her palm clenched around it,
whispering:

I don’t know where you are
But it’s somewhere better than this
Godforsaken place by far

everyone turned against her —
family, friends, sworn blood sisters
to touch her
was to risk madness
to defend her
was to invite exile
they dragged her
starved and shivering
through the streets of her childhood
blood seeped into the ropes
tight around her wrists and ankles
the sky went dark
and just as the first flame was lit
her 
d r a g o n 
r e t u r n e d

no longer small
or broken
wings vast as stormclouds
he had grown
since the day she mended his wing
and was given a stone 
from his hoard:

Keep this to remember me by

the stake was never lit
but the village was
townspeople screamed
rooftops on fire
under a crimson sky

she climbed onto his back
not as a girl,
but a witch unburned

Let’s fly away from here, my dear
I promise you there are regions to
Live a life free from madness and fear.

⋆˚꩜｡

3. Vintage Lego

They said it’d be a show-and-tell
of a cherished toy we had
The Panic
Like with social media likes
Or way back
Back in school
Worst haircut worst time ever
Where am I again?

Just a sea of eyes faces burning onto skin
Drowning 
Red-hot embarrassment
Rising like steam
But that wasn’t all, was it
Adulting didn’t erase the scripts
It amplified being
Shut down, put down
Cut off mid-sentence if I wasn’t
Performing on cue
There, but never really there
Strangers eclipsing my breath and existence
Self-worth like old curtains in tatters
What’s my name again?

Heart racing throat tight and dry
Ten seconds like a lightyear
Come back to earth
Stay grounded

I held on to my vintage Lego
A black dragon with a bright red fire piece
A Christmas gift from long ago 
Before filters / bots / curated reels
Long before exploring pagan lore
“They don’t make this anymore?”
“No.” 
Just like how nothing feels real anymore

Wasn’t this dragon part of a
Bigger fantasy set with a mighty fortress
Like Blarney Castle with its
Moss-covered druid stones
When can I go back to a place that feels like home

I guess it was over
When people smiled, laughed,
Moved on to the next in line
Was the anxiety visible?
Or something only 
My black dragon friend could see
As it flew us far beyond and away
Before returning safely back with me.

⋆˚꩜｡

4. Treasurekeeper

Her feminine rage
boiled over the edge
generations of hushed
and not-so-hushed
shaming, blaming,
old scripts saying:

“You’re bad”
“You’re not good enough”
“You don’t matter”

She dreamed of dragons
to befriend, not slay,
to fly with them
to a place that was more than
skin deep
where the wild feminine
wasn’t punished.

They tried to make her 
the sacrificial lamb
as they did with so many 
smirking as they snuffed out
the fire in their eyes
once full of life
and dreams unnamed.

But something unfurled
in her one day
a shimmer in the sky
a surge of vigor
that lifted her
above the clamorous DIN
of their empty vessel.

She followed the call
the dragon opened a vault
inside was a mirror
a moon charm that glowed
a scroll with her name
bordered by gold. 

For the first time
she saw her inner worth
not as a hindrance
but as treasure
and peace
settled in her soul
like a dragon at rest
protecting its hoard.

⋆˚꩜｡

5. starlit

from—
swords through the heart
giving from a cracked chalice
being gaslit and guilt-tripped
ghosted after confessions
erased whenever the real self showed
performing for affection

forged—
a chainmail of starlit dragon scales
held together by crystal sinew
each piece hammered from sorrow’s ore
on an anvil of rage
sparks flying like splints of discovery
made to hold pain without yielding

for—
armour that holds stories of breath and bone 
shimmering in shadow
radiant in moonlight
sure in sunlight
each scale dragon-sanctioned
each thread made with grace forged from grit

⋆˚꩜｡

6. The Dragon of Toa Payoh

In the land
of bulldozers and glass towers,
where history was often demolished,
replaced, rewritten,
stood a small but mighty playground,
its hexagonal dragon head
weathered by decades of sun and monsoon,
eyes dulled but still watching.

Multicolored coils
twisted into the shape of a body
that once glimmered with fresh paint,
now rusted in places,
but with memory in its curves.
It kept watch over the sandpit
where children once tumbled,
laughing through heatwaves
and rain storms
that turned the ground to mud.

Three other brethren rose
North, South, East, West
each spawning its own urban legend:

“Treasure buried beneath this one.”
“A secret chamber down below.”
“Star-crossed lovers met here.”
“This one honours the dead.”

As the skyline morphed
built, rebuilt,
glass over grit
these dragons remained
defiantly resisting erasure
their secrets untouched.

And now,
the former children return
with their own children
not to reclaim,
but to remember.
To offer a glimpse
of the magic that might still live
in rusted coils
and dragon eyes
that never stopped watching.

⋆˚꩜｡

7. Eclipse

She spoke at the small star
over and around her
word spills
trauma dumps
two hundred orbs per minute.
Small star stood beside her
not to shine
but to soften,
eclipsed
but not erased.

If small star spoke the truth,
she changed the subject 
or covered the sky in darkness.
A pale lunar dragon
with wisps of violet and blue
sent moonlit rays
through the bedroom window.
Small star dissolved into the night
not erased 
but soothed.

Some nights
were silent tears
cat curled
books stacked
scented wax like a shield
as the other yammered on
about distant figures like
acquaintances
or fictional heroes
who never challenged her.
The moon dragon watched,
gathering the tears,
turning some into ether pearls.
No justification needed.

It was hard,
but the small star kept going.

Persistence became a silver lining
to build strength
for long-term dreams
that mattered.
She stopped seeking solace
in a voice that rarely listened
for the rules had been rewritten
far too long ago.

And the grief she poured
into the night
became dreamscrolls
the moon dragon archived
to remind her of
her heart and soul
beneath the other’s doomscrolls
and endless distortions
of lived reality.

⋆˚꩜｡

8. Soilbound Spells

The young gardener thought no one saw,
but he did.
From the edge of the shrubbery
the dragon keeper watched the weeds tighten
around the boy’s new seedlings
that needed sunlight, water, care.
Not pruning into someone else’s likeness.
Not the clipping of wings
before the first flight.

It wasn’t madness.
It wasn’t weakness.
It was root rot.

He saw what the young gardener was doing.
It took a lot of effort, time and again,
to not water the same rot
or plant the same terrain.
He didn’t know if the boy could hear him
but language wasn’t always spoken.
He tended the soil
on the days the boy ran empty
on the edge of self-defeat
And waited
by the garden’s edge
until he was ready.

He heard the young man long before 
the words arrived,
not as declarations
but as quiet spells:

I am not defined by decay.
I rise above shame.
I build a sanctuary for myself.
I do not exist as a vessel for inherited debris.
I will not relive inherited scripts.
I choose where I thrive.

And there they were
in a garden that belonged to
the one who walked away.
His to tend
His to name
His to decide
who stepped inside
as they curled around the bloom,
to let it grow
unfettered.

⋆˚꩜｡

9. Anarokh Alley

“You’re delinquents,” they said.
BD always gazing out the classroom window.
CL dreaming of her future prince charming.
XY worshipping music above all else.
VE longing to move far, far away.

We had nothing but our dreams.
We’d hang out near Anarokh:
a bright blue spray-painted dragon
with silver-tipped wings,
watching over the alley
between the street to school
and the train station.

The graffiti artist was a senior
who used to blend in.
It was rumored he went on
a personal pilgrimage
to dragon lands across Europe.
Before he left, he told us:
“Add something of yourself.
A symbol of what you love.
Let the dragon carry it.”

So we did.
Small additions, here and there:
A compass near Anarokh’s eye
(for BD wanting a vision)
A crowned heart on his chest
(for CL longing for love)
A musical note behind an ear
(for XY’s devotion to rhythm)
A map tucked beneath one wing
(for VE’s desire to roam)

Years passed.
BD runs an online education company.
CL found her prince charming.
XY works as a sound technician.
VE became a globetrotting food critic.
They call us “late bloomers” now.

But Anarokh never called us anything.
He just gazed.
Listened.
Carefully held our symbols
while whispering 
spray-painted blessings.

“You’re nothing,” Anarokh never said.

⋆˚꩜｡

10. Etched in Stone

I etched your name into the stone
Each mark made from liquid dreams
to think of you while you were gone
to remember you through the seasons

How you entered the picture: sovereign as the sun
Energy belying an ancient dragon’s history
Eloquence able to disarm anyone
Dragonflight defying time and gravity

The sky said you couldn’t be tamed
The sea said you might drown in the depths
The trees whispered about strange things not to be named
as the tide washed away reasons or clues

I asked the stone: would you return?
It hummed back that you might
“For there’s always something new to learn
when dragons show up in one’s line of sight”

⋆˚꩜｡

11. Unapologetic Rain

Age 15 (10PM): 
i wasn’t comfortable with what i was wearing
some budget faux leather sleeveless top like why
you got down on one knee to hand a bouquet to Miss Queen Bee
later, i heard you say you only talked to pretty girls
i walked home alone
cool mist brushing my skin like a kind dragon’s breath
reminding me i was still a person.

Age 17 (3PM): 
i’d had my first mini glow-up
though i didn’t know it yet
i still froze often
especially during class presentations
mind blank as i cycled home like what
a downpour had left the streets damp
and mud splattered up my back
like a dragon’s claws, lightly imprinting a reminder:
the ground is near,
even when your mind starts to drift.

Age 23 (9PM): 
i thought you were the one
after your long, steady pursuit
until you went away
then asked if i’d hook up with you somewhere
so your girlfriend wouldn’t know wait what
i lay on my bed, done
the torrential rain outside
cleansing my wasted feelings
like a dragon rain god saying
“I’m here — let’s just wash it all away.”

Age 30 (8AM): 
still not getting everything right
but i’d left another toxic relationship
that started like destiny don’t they all
and nearly consumed me, by the end of it
a drizzle arrived during my morning walk
reminding me of that night at fifteen
the misty dragon said hi again,
and i knew i’d grown since then
(i hope all the others had, too)
through every rain,
each symphony,
each season of change.

⋆˚꩜｡

12. Shavasana

I. Sun Salutation
the body is a temple
i thought of the saying
while on vacation in Thailand two decades ago
where i visited a temple adorned by twin dragon pillars
as i leaned into the basic flow
from deep bends forward
to the plank and cobra
you’d just gawk and picture
which new position to try
“that’s so hot”
not to my spiritual rot

II. Winged Dragon Pose
i started doing yoga behind closed doors
away from your mindless pawing and disruption
with each breath i took, i imagined an
ancient dragon steadying me from within
“this is how you stay grounded”
“this is how you build strength”
“this is how you stand up tall”
sometimes, i imagined being the dragon
curling in front of me, clearly setting a
boundary line before i knew what one was

III. Shavasana
the day before i left
i lay on the ground, arms at my sides palms up
letting my body relax into the earth
Inhale—the heavy breath of tension
Exhale—the release of chronic distress
my inner dragon reminded me to believe in myself
like the temple’s inscription of protection
because there had to be more to life than this
the shadow my soul left on the ground
when i tasted the morning’s fresh air without turning back

⋆˚꩜｡

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