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
Poetry by Wanda 