Everything is unexpected;  
it always takes us by surprise.  
Darkness falls heavily,  
even from the lightest skies.  
We are never prepared  
when death comes to claim her prize.  

Even if the holy fire  
washes away your sins at night,  
it will wake you in the mire,  
causing you to run for your life.  
Suddenly, without warning,  
all your dreams and hopes will die.  

Young or old, it won't matter—  
man or woman, noble or slave,  
saints and sinners, bankers and poets,  
they all end up in the same grave.  
Their bones will go undiscovered,  
unless by some accident.  

Everyone has a volcano
resting over their town.  
One day it will unleash an inferno,  
though it seems quiet right now.  
It will follow your shadow  
to the last day of your life.  

Every death is unexpected;  
it always takes us by surprise.  
Even if you say you're ready,  
you will, frightened, run and hide.  
But there will be no escape  
from the red Pompeian sky.

"Golden chile , Shooting star , Hello goddess,
We are the same in different ways,
Know some will shame,  we've had our faults,
I would move mountains and plug up volcanoes if
we never do talk,
I need your voice , right though my brain,
Run through my brain , my minds for you,
Where you shall live , rent free in here,
I need you in my life more than americans need
K-POP,
my love will never stop,
I'm trying to say , theres no if , ands or buts,
My heart is yours and if you want, let it be known,
That this is you , the world should know that a
real goddess exist, and have been reborn,
No dull moment would ever ruin , laughters adored...."

©abpoetry2025.

Full poem in link

Vicious, firey mountain
Once fumed with rage
Lashes out with hot rock and
Clouds of dangerous ash.
And once the mountain erupts,
No one can escape it's wrath—
Oh, that vicious volcano.

What is ambition? Is it fire? Is it more akin to electricity? Do we associate it with smoke? Perhaps, then volcanoes are ambition. When a volcano erupts, we feel its violent heart shake the earth. We see the plumes of smoke roll for days, hours, or even weeks at a time. Then, the culmination of pressure and buildup is released into a covering of fire and ash. In the clouds of gray and heat, lightning may choose to revel in the sky with its distant cousin; dancing, teasing, and showing what power ambition might have!

Power flexes
downward:

a hulking, indifferent
appendage

obscene in its
obviousness,

but the obviousness is the
point,

you remind
me.

This latest one was only twenty-
six

and seemingly healthy, but no
matter—

in Hokkaido by now the
larches

have all dropped their
needles,

and the fumaroles of Mount
Asahidake

still hiss, even while
covered

in heaps of snow. I wish
that

you could take me there. I
wish

that we could set
off

into that pale oblivion and never
return,

immersed for the rest of our
days

in the frigid, accurate
waters

of Nature’s
reality.

But she has no dominion
here,

you remind
me,

and we are all just tourists in this place
anyhow,

sidling beneath cornices and sidestepping
crevasses

aslope an angry volcano in
winter,

that warm, glowing lodge at its
foot

seemingly never
drawing

any
closer.

Deep
    liquid rock seethes
          pressure builds
                molten fingers *****
                        probing
                              searching
                        pressed down
                        resisted
                        suppressed.

                        Incandescent lava
                            finds weak points
                                  pushes
                                      forces
                                      the mountain bends, buckles, swells
                                      strains, contains
                                      furious fire

                                      until

                                at supersonic speed
                      pyroclastic ash
                  rushes
            burns
        clears.

Quiet
    death has passed                                                          
          black cinder slopes
              and
                  a flower
                      blooms.

those who observed me while i was dormant
marveled at my majesty
unaware of the volatility that i barely kept contained

i was roped off, labeled with a tidy wooden sign that told me and others
what i was
a stoic monument and stable mountain

while at my core i seethed, i did my best to be what i needed to be in order to be witnessed

inevitably i erupted, frightening the gathered onlookers with a blazing rain of lava and a suffocating cloud of ash
the sky grew dark and it felt like the end of the world
but i needed to scream and i didn't mean to hurt anyone

i've had far fewer visitors since that day
i was fenced off, labeled with a rusting metal sign that told me and others what i was
a volcanic monster and volatile menace

i wonder
as i quietly crumble into the sea
if i will be remembered by humanity
and if so
will it be as the mountain
or the monster?

in the end
i think i would prefer to be forgotten

Everything is connected,
I feel like a volcano that has been dormant
but want to release all of my tension.
I want to show you my emotions;

So you can see I'm not a doormat,
I just keep my feelings below the surface,
It's resulted in my body doing the same
Which is why I'm in constant pain.

My trauma has created tunnels of magma,
I can't tell where they end or begin
It's frightening and leaves me upset,
There's no one I can share this with.

I hope for one day to lay out my feelings,
Let everything flow;
Like tears, they'll roll out of me
Covering everyone I've allowed to see

Then will come the tricky thing,
to never bottle anything again.
I don't want to reap havoc on them,
I want to stay empty and peaceful

To know where I end and begin,
It would solve something, wouldn't it?
But I feel like a volcano.
Physically and within.