Under the Volcano Part 2 of 2
Buoys ring out the calling on the mist
Any place is a better place than this
A song from the distant desert comes
Reminiscent of a kiss at Christmas
On a warm breeze tempered by the sea
Pouring out its soul like rain
Over the lost landscapes scenery
Waves lick the shore for salt and flavor
To be remembered then forgotten
What is it to be surmised by burning lava
Flowing over rocky aging miles
Back to the sea and under waves
The purity wheat domain grows thin
Sways like yellow hair between the cracks
Meandering overtime on gentle winds to finally rest
Under hills to escape the landscapes sole intent
Weighs heavy on the back of nature happening
Against the ground when sun settles down
Down rugged paths etched out by time itself
Perhaps poppies are in bloom
Over smooth surfaces of illusion
Illusions postulated late at night
As to their authenticity
Validated by the light of day
Morning comes to measure all
Dawn covers mountains first
Lightning strikes.... hits... then gone
Covers what is left when rolling on
Smooth as glass down a humble path
What Is left to postulate on beauty
As to what measures hills at peace
Hills line up, stacked on the ruined miles
Remain still after earthquakes come
Waiting on the morning shores in silence
Never done, never begun
Copyright © Earl Schumacker | Year Posted 2018
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