Volcano

 

The lava’s molten rhythm flows,

And down below our whole world slows;

As thoughts turn upwards to the heat,

We learn to measure our retreat.

 

The first sign is a rumbling sound

Which chills the spine and moves the ground.

The liquid rock spurts out and pours;

The mountain murmurs turn to roars.

 

With this inferno holding sway,

Inheritance is swept away;

Mementos of our hearth and place

Are decimated without trace.

 

And what is more the views nearby

Will vanish in the ash-baked sky,

And friendships forged in sun and rain

May never be put back again.

◄ Land

Birds ►

Comments

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Stephen Gospage

Sat 16th Oct 2021 16:53

And my thanks to Robert and Kelvin for reading and liking this one.

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Stephen Gospage

Tue 12th Oct 2021 21:23

And many thanks to Rudyard, Stephen, Holden and Pete for the likes.

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Stephen Gospage

Tue 12th Oct 2021 17:00

Thank you, Greg. Yes, partly a metaphor. Someone confidently told me in 2016 that true friendships would survive the Brexit vote, but that hasn't always been the case.

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Greg Freeman

Tue 12th Oct 2021 09:49

Like most people, I find volcanoes awesome and fascinating, Stephen. Nothing to do with the climate change, of course - just a constant reminder of the strict limits of our power over nature. And you use them as an interesting metaphor for something else at the end of the poem.

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