The ease with which you point the finger
The speed that you apportion blame
The bubbling groan beneath your lid
Sentinel of poisoned veins

The furnace crackling beneath the ***
The trembling of an iron lid
The hissing of the noxious gas
The pallor of the body’s skin

The line you walk is steep and narrow
With tumbling crevasses either side
The pack you bear is sharp and heavy
The chance of falling ever high

The dreamers dream of transformation
The torrid churning lavas cease,
Pure freshwater streams will flow ahead
To quash the hate and bring the peace