Pyroclastic Flow

Dreams are fingers that gently slid across mountains and hills as they bloomed with flowers in damp glow;

Breaths that moaned through drowning valleys salted by the mines beneath which never stopped;

Towers that rose above, built in stages through skill and exertion, only to fall on a cold morning;

Pools that shivered and froze as they emptied their secrets across a void in subtle light;

Flowers that hung by the stem, presented like waving, bouncing flicks from the wrist;

Voices that spoke from below, silently, howling in circles, back and forth;

Earthquakes that shook everything with eruptive vibrations through the ground to your bed, again and again

and again.

pyroclastic flow

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