lava people

like magma, mankind's spirit lying deep beneath the surface
not appearing until stressed by some great tectonic movement
motions of the world above cannot affect it, cannot heat it,
cannot shift it; cannot plumb it but
when those imperial, impartial
shifts and shudders start
runs streaming uphill in excited anticipation,
heaving tremulously with ponderous explosive force
smothering the heavens with ashes and
burying the cities of the gods.

and when the underlying movements settle down, so does
the heat and the intensity of this great underworld spirit,
so do the lands above become
greener and all the more beautiful for
the destruction that has arisen from below.

currents of magma swirl and clash and mingle and heave,
currents dragging aeons in their wake, barely
containing their potential and simmering, simmering,
bubbling, bubbling, until now, with great surge,
charging forth, erupting, tearing itself

apart,

pushing and scraping, screaming voicelessly, praying
to powerful tectonic gods, praying
for release, while on the surface, it's all
business as usual,
only the sensitive bear witness
to bubbles of premonition

rejoice and despair