Dead Volcano

That sound is amazing: the sound of freedom is a muted scream

Falling ashes suspended in a dream, where tear drops are rain drops

And life is still.

The heart is still blazing: the heart that gives blood

Black red like burning oil fields, the love, an obsidian flow

Hissing on the surface and simmering on the inside.

 The memory, that memory, is seared: the memory now void of truth

In a vacuum I age back to my youth, blinded by miscomprehension

I see a rigid future.

The sight is a beauty: sight is a cruelty when taken as it is

Dilated pupils floating in their sockets like dead fish, in the sea

 Tired of tasting salt.

Old bones turn to ash: aching bones make that music

In my wake shadows dance looking foolish, with gaping mouths

Like swallowed reflections.

Time is travel: there’s no time like now to go nowhere

The speed of life is a living nightmare, death is the pit lane

The past just a deserted wasteland.

The meaning is lost: the meaning which means nothing to any other

My mouth filled with molten lava, the world is populated with spies

Sabotaging self.

No outcome is fixed: so out come the mixed messages

Every effort effortless, until

We die.

Dead Volcano

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