Email Poem

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Personal Note:

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Poem

It's percolating from below.
If lava ain't allowed to flow,
you'll see something more abrupt.
One day, it must erupt. 

A pompous, boring oration
continuing without cessation -
trying to listen to what he said,
a fly has landed on his bald head.
Trying to suppress thereafter,
impossible, you burst into laughter.

An injustice, and you start to boil.
It seems like such a heavy toll.
As you try hard to keep your peace,
it struggles for release.
Like a kettle filled with steam,
you can't stop it, and you scream.

Maybe, it's not entirely proper,
a genteel lady and a sharecropper,
but, with this impassioned lust,
if it must be, then, well, it must.
Spurred on by a little brandy,
a closet comes in handy.

It could be a poem or piece of art
locked up tightly inside your heart,
a message, you feel you must impart -
is it dead before it can start?
No, my dear, it continues to live,
until, your gift, to the world you give.  

Authorities can suppress the truth -
rulers, teachers, influencing youth,
who slowly grow up and bide their time,
appearing to all to toe the line.
It may take a while, but without fail,
the truth will, one day, prevail.

It's percolating from below.
If lava ain't allowed to flow,
you'll see something more abrupt.
One day, it must erupt.

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