Like the earth, I have a molten core,
Churning with unrelenting fire,
Simmering, wracked by violent waves of rage
That roil across deeper trenches of desire
Suppressed by such immense pressure
That I am afraid my heart will turn to iron,
If I do not break.
I can feel my tectonic plates shifting,
A subterranean shaking
That barely trembles my fingertips;
Escapes my lips
In the sweetness of a song
That was written as the suppression of
But like the earth, my tranquil rivers curve towards the sea,
Masking these darker lakes of fury with the gentle babbling of pastoral streams.
And so I beckon you to sail with me,
Smiling, as if softly rocking beneath the moon is
All we’ll ever be.
You can’t see,
Below the darkened waters,
Under the soaking sands,
The mantles of myself that,
Like a wasteland,
Will consume you in ways
I am scared that you won’t understand.
I guess it takes a strong person to deal with me sometimes. I figured the "poetically inclined" might understand. We feel things deeply and sometimes a little too much, stirring up, not just the beautiful in us, but the **** too. I guess I have my mother's temper after all!