Hot Lava (poem)

History has a way of

barging its way into the present,

imposing itself

into the here and now

so that space and time

bend and concede to

old emotion-

flaring up from underneath,

thrusting out from the

depths and into

the mind eye

in a single moment

erupting from the

chest and mouth

like hot larva

pouring forth and

burning everything in its path

down to hard, black stone.

these volcanoes sit still

within the landscape of the soul,

rocky and barren

until seismic shifts


such annihilation.

History will not accept

Its lot

it seems-

And so I must be wary.



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