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