Poems about volcano

The lonely darkness
Swallows up the light of day
Nothing is left of the light
But a thin pin prick

The pin prick opens
The dark is lit up
A fire burns bright
The flames reach up
With burning hands

Three silver rings
Thick and thin
A circle of gold
Bubble in the fire

As gold liquid flows
The thunder is heard
As grey light is lit up
From the volcano

Snatched me up
From a bored volcano
Washed me down
Scrubbed my soul-hole
Of sincere shame,
Rejection and dejection

Knelt down to pray
Before me and the Almighty
Swirling down
Dirt spins in slo-mo
Went down the drain
Echoing choking gasps

Wrapped me warmly
With your eerie love
Filled me up!
As if you don't know
You've won again
Stitched my open heart

Smash a cup
On the floor behind me
Give me a breakdown
Cup of mo-jo
Hot seering pain
My selfish violations

Smelling so tidy
Like a lonesome clown
I give in
Time is so slow -
Ignoring blame,
I linger in consolation

Beautiful
Peaceful
Quiet.
They build vacation spots
And towns
Around me.
"Its inactive
It'll be fine".
Mysterious
In the way
That things are building up.
They visit me
And hold their breath
In awe.
And when I erupt
They run
As if they had no clue it would happen.
When I finally do
What I am meant to do,
They blame me
Call me a disaster and hide
As if they didn't know
That lava was inside.

I spit words of lava, pouring passionately down my neck and to my toes; sealing me to this place where I stand, stuck in this place where I stand and my words are too firey for people to hear yet too gripping for them to look away.
And from a distance they peer not knowing how my words will quickly engulf and obliterate them, tearing up the roots of their society, the homes of families of lovers of friends demolished by my words;
My words so vehement they chase these people out of town and although I cannot budge from this place where I stand, stuck, I will ensue terror upon those who cross my path and I will burn those who rest too close to I.

I feel like a volcano, that will erupt.
The lava isn't cooling, it's just heating up.
The lightest wind, will blow me off.
The most little rain, will drown me in.

The lightening strikes, my so called soul.
And thunder will, deafen me from my core.
Walking in this darkness, I can see no more.
Walking in this darkness, I can see no more.

I hear the quiet cry, inside a sleeping sigh
Whisper of toxic love
Promising to rise once again
ВЂњI will touch the sky
I am heaven's fiery thrown”
Creating electric storms
You see the lightning grown.

Dear Volcano,

You and I aren't very different.

You gape at the mountains around you, and you wonder how they're just made out of rock. Solid. In place. Unshaken.
You wonder, how the hell could they not collapse in on themselves with every shift of the Earth.

And I stand here.
In the middle of everyone around me, and I wonder, how the hell could they be just human, just so full of sense, logic, everything I never seem to get? How are they so solid, in place, unshaken?
I wonder, how do they not collapse in on themselves with every passing wind and every passing word. How could they not tremble with every shift in their lives?

You see, dear volcano, you have your own magma chambers and they're constantly burning and having their own battles, splashing and splattering blazed up droplets of magma in on you and we don't notice until you can't contain any of all this redness within you, until you explode, until we see your lava, all impatient and sprinting out of your body, until we see your smoke, all dark gray and ashy, and we don't understand that you've tried your best to keep all of this in. To be like all the other mountains; lacking of toxicity, gentle, just brown. You wish you didn't show this world how there are so many shades of red you've been trying to keep secret, how they terrify every grain of your rocky walls that they crumble so much until they're too weak to bear in any of it.

And here I am, like you, unable to contain my red. Unable to stop myself from crumbling when my own arms feel too worn out to carry any of this disarray. Here I am, constantly exploding in every shade of grey there is, breathing in my own rubble every time, and despising my own magma for starting it, cursing all four chambers of my heart for not containing it all the time, for letting its beat run out of tune, for allowing thoughts that sting a lot like lava trickle their paths through the pillars of my ribcage, vandalize everything they stand for, turn them into ash and dust and rubble and grey.

See, you're made out of rock and I'm out of clay, and when hardened, I remember you the most.



Best regards,
Just Another Natural Disaster

Staring down a upon the town,
Is not a handsome castle.
No handsome castle with
A king counting bills with chubby hands.

Instead there is an
Enormous sized beast:
A volcano.
He lies in slumber.

His mouth puffs out
Smoke with curling white wisps.
A bomb with no ticking timer.
A constant danger.

The town lives on.
Nobody knows when it'll
Rain lava and rock...
Destroying them...and all they have worked for.

Oh, the town folk eye the
Sides of the volcano.
Covered with forests, farmland, and flammable houses below.
For now the air is sweet and fruits are good, but one day it'll blow.

And when it blows,
They sky will not be blue, but filled
With black smoke, billowing upward
In growing plumes.

All that can be seen of the beast
Through the dark veil is the lava that flows
In thick rivers,
Burning a path as it goes.

Can't out run hot magma, my friends,
For it burns everything in its path.
So with all due sincerity, you are
Basically fucked.