The VOLCANO

Hardly anyone

Is commonly

Accustomed

To witnessing

A throbbing

Pit of eruption

With popping

Spitting

Combustion

Producing

Sloppy

Sludgy

Syrupy juice

Dusty, muddy

Minerals

And soot

Hot glugs

Of mucus

Bubbling

Goulash

A huge splash

Of lava

Flows and

Spews past

Out it comes

Spluttering

Squirting

Fireballs

A hundred

Are hurtling

Gurgling

Rushing

And surging

In the sky

The sun

Is blazing

On the

Ground

Are layers

Of lava

Undulating

It’s mustard sauce

Raining down

In buckets

Nothing can

Disrupt

Its course

Hits

The closest

Trees first

Tears through

Birds glued

To the explosive

Heat burst

Rows of peat

Earth

Gushing

Pouring

Like the

Reverse

Of your

Stomach

When you

Suck it all in

It keeps coming

Forcing

Its way through

Ripping

Structures apart

Yet it’s

Quite beautiful

As it shines

With lustre

And sparks

Hares run

For cover

Nature’s

A wondrous art

But when

Volcanoes erupt

They are the

Ground’s

Guns pumping

They blast

With

Thundering claps

And anything

That comes

In their path

Crumbles to ash

The lava’s

Consistency

Is like custard

Pouring over

The landscape

As if it were

A dessert

A sumptuous tart

It’s advancing

Part of its

Consumption’s

The grass

Logs, sticks

Vomiting

Like it got sick

Now

There’s someone

Who frolics

A bystander

Stumbling

Looking for

Something

To grasp

Fumbling!

Oh no

He’s

Succumbed

To it

His lungs

Filled with gas

From him

Is heard

Mumbling

Stuttering gasps

Death’s

A humbling fact

Stones tossed

Asunder

Bits smashed

Fleeing insects

Get under skin

Gnats

Smothering

It’s dripping

Into holes

Fizzling

As it flows

Over the

Landscape’s

Receptacles

Pots, bowls

Basins

Dissolving

Rock formations

Proceeding

Like a train

Through different

Stops

Zones, stations

Hot smoke

Fades

Into the

Atmosphere

And when

Tomorrow’s day

Comes

The scenery

Will be

Tanned, burnt

And crisp

A stark contrast

To before

When there was

Serene beauty

And grandeur

An idyllic part

Of Earth

Was this

But now

All there is

Is a cancerous

Cursed abyss

The land’s

Turned

To ash

As black as

A panther

Is there hope

For any growth? 

Will plants emerge?

The answer’s

Affirmative

The rain

And wind

Will come

As a dancer

With twirls

And twists

Whirls and

Whispers

Now, when

Will man learn

That his place

In nature

Is not

Always

As first

But sixth

According to

The timeline

Of God’s

Creation Plan

And before

Him came

The stars

Which

Blaze

And hang

In the sky’s

Black canvas

Like

Surveillance

Cameras

All along

The ridges

Hills, slants

Slopes

Dense

Villainous

Grand smoke

Making

Certain areas

Invisible

And cloaked

With blackness

Causing

The lungs

Of victims

To be filled

And choked

The heat felt

Is like bottles 

Of whiskey

Swilled down

Throats

The colour’s

High-pitch

And glows

Like the bold

Colours

Of Vincent

Van Gogh

Or Bonnard

Vuillard

Post

Impressionists

The lava

Spilled

And soaked

In sediment

The

Undergrowth’s

Stripped back

Exposed

To elements

Death comes

By fire

From the

Volcano

And you won’t

Remember it