Had those withheld words
propelled into the air
in a cloud of furious ash,
their downpour might‘ve altered
these parched fields of anger,
spurting acceptance by now.

Had they risen from the depths
of their complex hide-out
in a scorching lava flow,
their escape might’ve collapsed
this cavern of rage,
granting forgiveness in time.

But those unspoken words
keep simmering inside,
a bubble of magma trapped,
increasing in volume
in a brimming chamber,
the inevitable eruption in sight.

 

 

© november child
 photo credit: Photo via VisualHunt
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