Cumbre Vieja

 

Lava pours
like ketchup
smoke shoots up
then down,
fire and brimstone
rolls downhill
to the little
Spanish town
 
Mother's tears
are flowing
destruction
all around,
death is rolling
slowly coming
turning green
to muddy brown
 
There is no place
of safety
the lava flow
surrounds,
and ash is
all-consuming
as boulders
tumble down
 
Over all
the end is looming
the hell unleashed
astounds,
no mercy
no salvation
Eden leveled
to the ground.
 
 
 
 

◄ This Is Not Who We Are

Small Things ►

Comments

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Martin Elder

Mon 27th Sep 2021 11:32

Well stated in this poem.

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keith jeffries

Sun 26th Sep 2021 18:57

A good descriptive poem. I once visited the island; a beautiful place.

Thanks for this
Keith

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