Volcano

I’m seething.

I’m boiling.

I’m a dormant volcano. I wait.

With a molten core I spit

and consume that which will make me boil over.

A belly full of rage awaits

that brave soul who challenges my peaks.

Their tears hiss when hitting my fire,

Fueling my ire, feeding my desire

to devour them whole.

But for now I slumber fitfully,

A nightmare of red heat.

And when I awake, with sweaty palms,

I’ll destroy them like a scythe through wheat.