The mountain is on fire

Ghosts billow in the voggy haze,

Writhing and roiling under a smoke-choked sky while

Slashing rivulets of rubies dance across the shadows,

As if hidden puppeteers wished to will the ghosts to life,

Taking form, encapsulated beneath Pele’s armor

Fantasies of savage vengeance under a bloody moon.

Barren desolation stretches from the spectre-filled abyss

Life and death locked in fundamental combat

Unknown Millennia of entrenched warfare scribbled on sulfur-caked scrolls

Shock troops erupt in dense formation at the crater’s edge

Twisting and breaking to mount the century-long charge.

Different ghosts dwell here

Piercing sunlight refracts off of still morning mist

And indistinct forms shimmer at the edge of consciousness

The call of the Coqui penetrates even the thickest night’s silence

Booming out, it rides the salt-laden wind

As of a drummer boy in blue.

Sudden rushing sounds signal the gushing of fleeing Nene

Their powerful wings beating in time to the rumbling drums.

A cacophony of silence suddenly grips the scene

Shrieking cries from mysterious throats interrupt the dark nothingness

And the bristles of hoary bats stand erect on gargoyle spines.

All at once, a sigh from Pele,

The mood shifts, pale moonshine illuminates all

Smoke continues to billow, but as if the fire has been doused,

By cool, cool water.

Written on August 6th, 2017 , Uncategorized

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Protecting the Hawksbill – Connor Liu

Hawaii Volcanoes National Park