Verbal Reprisals
Verbal Reprisals
Volcanoes, weaponry stilled by the ages,
Sound asleep in the bowels of the earth,
Isolated from the turmoil of civilization,
Smiling with the silence of the seasons,
Living in the lap of spiritual harmony,
Flaunting their peaks against the azure skies,
Far from the unsettled roots below,
Where nothing is permanent and still,
Where even Mother Earth has a heartbeat,
Where she still lives how she was born,
When she was molded by the Almighty,
When she was a purified globe of matter,
Untainted by the recklessness of propagation,
And still living in the age of spiritual obedience:
She lives according to how she’s supposed to live.
Volcanic uprisings are only
A flame in the wilderness,
A beauty released from within
With orange-colored roses
Streaming down the sides,
A natural furnace that
Warms up the chill of the night,
A sweet incense that burns and
Spirals up toward heaven,
With all beauty and goodness
Encased in one volcanic eruption.
With villages and people to burn,
She is a beast, she is.
She speaks the language of the devil
With an iron tongue and metal heart.
She spits out her lava in a playful manner.
She’s the devil in her verbal uprising,
Taking out her vengeance against nothing,
Nothing the way it was when she was born.
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