Poem: Pele

Sorry for the slow blogs. I spent the last two days writing a poem, but it's been so long that I feel rusty. In any case, I have lots of friends whose blogs have gone extinct from blog fatigue, but I don't think that is the case here. I just have general fatigue, but I will keep writing as I can as there's a lot of interesting things on my mind.

-
Pele

This is anger: hair and tears pummeled into the air,
a fine mist of sear, a scatter of curses, beautiful
beyond belief, now caged behind glass,
and you can almost hear her fury
echo within that chamber, the same screams
magnified a thousand times within the throne
of the goddess herself. Pele, eyes aflame, livid
with passion whose tantrums bring prostration,
whose taunts rend canyons into stone.

How base, how excessive, how gorgeous
her demands engulf tree after tree.
A plume of light takes flight, and then dies.
I stand on years-old inclement, fury that has
cooled into memory, then rotted to stone
as younger, newer angers make themselves known.

I heard of a thief who ran with the gravel
of unrequited love, who thought he could allay
her emotion, satisfy her lust. It was a small thing,
hollowed where air burrowed its way out,
the way an insect might escape. He returned
the stone years later, then never left her mantle.