Under The Volcano

Life on the edge

Under The Volcano

Mighty flowers shake above the quake

Children run for cover under clouds of ash

Burnt down houses driven off by lava flow

The volcano makes a path

That other world we know

Sometimes survival is based on luck

Lightning bolts hardly audible

Crash anyway through the confusion

Hills stop there suddenly

Summoned up on rocky miles

Settle down exactly where they are

Once the ground calms down

To claim their own in style

By the shore before the sun forms giants

Shadows that emerge, cast on the ocean

In compliance with the winds and clouds

Pointed edges grow sharp towers on the morn

Outside where sound elements belong

Born on electric currents moving over waves

By horizons line as lightning strikes

Reflecting light lifts landscapes rolling gray

Covers Earth over on a parade with particles

Hectic red steadfast ejects metallic crimson rocks

Lays bare their soul on solemn waters edge

They sparkle red instead of living on their own

Blue oceans form complexions overhead

Far away far reaching desert sands

Can speak of dunes and sleeping suns

Too far away from clouds to touch them

Dried figs hang on the ancient trees

Suggestions of a life long gone forgotten

Lost in a deeper slumber

Summoned up, dawning on the past

While too much sand gets in the way of thought

Survivors at the waters edge ask questions

What's in the ocean but more sea

Why is the sky raining red and fire ash

Warning signals measure mysteries

Buoys ring out the calling on the mist

Any place is a better place than this

A song from the distant desert comes

Reminiscent of a kiss at Christmas

On a warm breeze tempered by the sea

Pouring out its soul like rain

Over the lost landscapes scenery

Waves lick the shore for salt and flavor

To be remembered then forgotten

What is it to be surmised by burning lava

Flowing over rocky aging miles

Back to the sea and under waves

The purity wheat domain grows thin

Sways like yellow hair between the cracks

Meandering overtime on gentle winds to finally rest

Under hills to escape the landscapes sole intent

Weighs heavy on the back of nature happening

Against the ground when sun settles down

Down rugged paths etched out by time itself

Perhaps poppies are in bloom

Over smooth surfaces of illusion

Illusions postulated late at night

As to their authenticity

Validated by the light of day

Morning comes to measure all

Dawn covers mountains first

Lightning strikes.... hits... then gone

Covers what is left when rolling on 

Smooth as glass down a humble path

What Is left to postulate on beauty  

As to what measures hills at peace

Hills line up, stacked on the ruined miles

Remain still after earthquakes come

Waiting on the morning shores in silence

Never done, never begun

Reviews

[Einstein Noodle]

trippy read for me ...two things ...i see myself ...a viewer of the scene as the earth is shaped at the beginning ... and then a participant as an apocalyptic event is seen coming and then takes place ...lots of visuals in the glowing exploding fuming steaming in the ocean volcanic action ... wow! i think i better get moving on putting my affairs in order ;)
E.