My fury creeps

like scorching lava

No firey explosion

 just steady flow 

   Of white hot pain

    hardening into rock

      In molten submission

        oozing quiet and slow

A volcano is power but

I’m the chill one so 

  Even in crisis

    my rage doesn’t show 

       Rocks are made by

          cooling down so 

            If I’m mad I’m often 

               the last one to know 

   There’s power in being

      go with the flow but 

         If the magma is blocked then

        where does it go?

    Even deeper maybe

 but here’s what I know 

It’s not smart to go near

a silent volcano