Through the blanket of warm air,
I hear a rumbling noise
I do hear it all the time
Day and night, over and over.
It must be my thoughts, my secret chimera;
It doesn’t matter, it'll pass, it shall.
What do they say of the law that teaches,
You can stretch on till that breaking point?
What-ever it is, true it is.
For after that point everything breaks.
The rumbling was true not some reverie,
I did know, but did I? Guess not.
The lava gushes out.
It burns; it disgusts.
But had it another way?
Never would it know.
Those were my thoughts, my fears forever,
Finding no vent through my futile pretence.