It passes quickly, then returns.
An ever-present malady,
which grinds and growls. It aches and burns.
Beneath the surface, magma churns
to burst forth from the heart of me.
A hairpin trigger, hammer-locked
awaits to strike the coiled snake;
ignition, dormant powder shocked
a hail of curses flown, half-cocked,
unleashed, as ravaged dogs awake.
The wrath poured out in bitter blast
as boiling pots snap brittle tops;
the swirling currents, strong and fast,
stampede as cattle, rumbling past
to change the landscape where it drops.