Molten Thought

May 10, 2010
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the word paints a picture.
and magisterial,
it commands respect
with it's unrivaled beauty
illustrated in each ebony rock,
as unique as a snowflake.
The lone survivors
of unrelenting heat.

And the apex
rises up from the immoveable base
and points into the clouds.
"That's where you belong,"
it says, aiming at infinity,
"there's where you stop."
A sight of power
in it's tangible victory
over the elements.

And simultaneously,
a raging concoction of unthinkable ingredients
brews just beneath the surface.
The same resilient rock
as that which forms it's exterior
is reduced to mere liquid
barely beyond sight.

Until finally,
there is a lapse in perfection,
or so it would seem.
And being unable to contain itself any longer
the volcano erupts,
spewing liquid fire as far as it can reach,
obliterating anything in its path -
destruction at its finest.

But then,
as suddenly as they were provoked,
the volcano's contents settle,
claiming territory as the newest additions
to the most formidable structure
on the planet.

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zweetz3k9 said...
Jun. 12, 2010 at 3:20 pm
true art. truer words. never stop writing please.
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