The eruption shakes the earth,
While spewing up ash and smoke.
Night comes and the ash clings to the sky like dust on a broom.
On nights like this,
Where there's a faint warm breeze in the air.
The moon shines like the waters on a tropical beach.
It's light laps against the ground like ocean waves,
Leaving a soft kiss when it recedes.
The night is like the horizon,
Where the waters and the sky meet,
They become one.
Even though hot red lava pours onto the dirt and ocean nearby,
The moon still keeps it's hue and transfers it to the surrounding area,
Like a medic crew in a disaster.
In it's brief beauty it has captured,
The sun fights it's way up,
Siphoning all of it's light,
Turning it into yellow fire.
Steven Krauss-Akins ©2015
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