Steadfast I stand…


The reluctant lava slides towards inertia
acknowledging its conversion to cold magma –
an unwilling, but inevitable transmutation.

Raindrops soothe blackened branches
hushing the death throes of flame,
the dying murmur of fervour.
Scorched and scarred, the terrain bears witness
to nature unrestrained,
but while molten stillness
smolders over bloodied embers
clandestine seedlings conspire
to emerge yet stronger and greater still.


Broken shards of resolve
lie scattered at my bleeding feet.