Volcano

An island unto thyself.
In a sea of that swims and breaks with waves of discount.
You raise the flag on the mound.
That sword, you bring on down to me.
Yet I build a world around you.
Like a town on a volcano.
Climbing higher for a better view.
Yet a rumbling in the belly of the beast is heard.
Daily, I wait for black rain.
But hope for the sun to shine.
Yet the rumble can be assuaged.
As I climb to the lip and taste the lava.
Kissing your plume of red and dangerous fire.
On high, I can see the turrets of other kingdoms.
Their flags, bound and bright in the tropical sun.
Happy under the banner of the one.
Yet I remain, rooted to the hard cooled magma that is your soul.
Knowing the end, will have me buried like the people of Pompeii.
Frozen in time, in ecstatic pain and awe.

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Black snow

The heat will blaze and feel like hell.
A product of some evil spell.
That clings to you like sticky oil.
And all life seems such gruel and toil.
But then the rains will quickly come.
A gentle tapping. A blissful hum.
And wash away that oily mess.
Of anguish and the painful stress.
You soak your soul in calming pools.
Which cleanse the mind like shiny jewels.
But before long, the flood waters rise.
And you’ll see only death in drowning eyes.
For floods wash away the most unfaithful.
And rid the world, quite harsh and wasteful.
And as you sit in quiet despair.
You feel an ember, alight on air.
The end at hand, no ice age coming.
Little demons with their evil drumming.
For though above, it falls as if from below.
The hurried end, in sad black snow.
Which chokes the world and covers discretely.
Your soul and bones for time completely.

The Island

Sky west and crooked, that’s where you’ll find me.
Wallowing in the shallows of a spirit so deep.
No man is an island, yet here the land mirrors my form.
Hewn coarsely out of limestone and chalk, strong and cratered like the moon.
You may cast you anchor down to my sandy soil.
Hoping to raise your flag and conquer me.
As you explore what you think you now possess.
But a volcanic change of thought will turn these tables.
Collapsing all that lies in reach.
And we shall sink, beneath the waves of our doomed Atlantis.
To be spoken of in awe by those who follow our demise.

Tragic necessity

Unstitch the fabric and pull at the thread.
Dismantled then reassemble my love like a puzzle.
Cut the corners, and round the edges.
Make them fit.
I feel it licking at my chest from the insides.
Coursing through me like a river of lava.
Deep boulders of love shift within.
Where there was once just water and fire.
Now sings and eternal stream of desire.
We shake off these brown leaves of entanglements.
Lift those gravitied heads towards the swollen sky and puff out that chest.
The one that beats with a billion heartbeats.
We strip away the coupling and unity of two souls bound together.
Yet we then drift like ghosts, transparent and vacant like an empty space;
waiting to be filled.
Decorated with art and passion.
A wash with the colour of intimacy and rouge.
We are all boned striped rooms, inviting others to come in and rearranged.
To hang those crooked pictures.
Sift through our drawers.
Silently succumbed to the tragic necessity of you.
Of love.

Pulverize

Hang your grievance on me. Soak me in your clamour.
Roll me in honey and broken glass.
Shattered bits of my soul and your heart.
The gravity of your love, the weight of your hatred.
You animate your version of history that open up such floodgates.
Drowning me.
Silencing me.
Listening to you.
Waiting for you to fall upon me, stoping me leaving the earth.
The sky tumbles like dust, preserving me forever in your version of events.
Practising Pompeii on the fingertips of your mind.
Spinning me through your eye of the needle.
The force of your love crushes me, the weight of your words.
Clearing the room of all sounds, except that of my dreams caving in.