Poem: Crescendo

The winds turbulence spins and twirls from a hole in the sky

The ice cracks from the pounding of the marauders

The ants run to and fro as fissures form in the crust

Lava underneath waning and waiting to erupt

The mantle heaving sighs so silent totally inaudible

Just waiting for the crescendo


© Wanda Sanders 2020 August 10


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