Some call him the Chines Dragon,

Many call him enemy,

But few call him friend,

None set this poor soul free.

I've watched him many times,

Through out the long, hard years

Seen his pain, his weakness,

And his deepest fears.

I wish I could talk to him just once,

To tell him to let it out, it'll be okay,

Comfort his tortured spirit,

Help him send his fears away.

But he hates all and me

For no other reason than

He is too proud of his honor

To say he can understand.

His life has made him a Lone Wolf

Never speaking if not spoken to first.

I pity that in him, because of him,

That attitude is the worst.

There is not a dishonest bone in him,

His mind is a finely tuned machine

Hidden behind a dark curtain

Never by any to be seen.

I want to call him friend,

And him call me the same,

But his pride won't alow that,

His honor the same.

Some day, some how,

I know he will, deep down I feel it,

Some how he will, I just know,

But to him is to decide when the time is fit.

So till then, I'll wait and watch

Yet always close in a way.

Hoping ever more for my chance

To help him see the light of day.