The Vog is Near

The burning flail of debris hints to the undertake of the bed,

it screams at my village and is said to burst.

The same fear we share has led to this endless curse

because she is the mountain, that calls as she does pled.

 

Her fits on the flame, her crying is the lava stream,

only she can destroy nature’s love

and yet take a hold of

where the sand and ocean meet at the seam.

 

That very mountain we worship-

Will hurt us no more!

To rebuild over what bore

to have it taken by her ownership.

 

She takes what is hers, with fire and blood,

but will forever stand alone at the top of the world

looking down at the chaos curl

we rise above her, repeat, and then flood.

 

Poetry Slam: 

Comments

Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741