Feel the Heat
Beating down on the day,
making bricks of malleable clay,
making black goo of hot asphalt,
making excuses for finding fault.
Seeping in, in the night,
heat's hot breath, out of sight,
sears with passion, fiery lust,
tongues of ecstasy, gently thrust.
Whirlwinds of the heat's wrath,
suck up the cycles in its path,
spin out the seeds of sloth,
into mountains of molten truth.
Branded into the hearts of man,
fiery rhythm boils up again,
instilling a distilling taste of fire,
water cannot quench inner desire.
Tattooing on a hot tin roof,
ash's pelting would not be enough,
for a skin of that fine true color,
could not out burn the sky's dark pallor.
So the truth is broiled into the heart,
burned in deep at the very start,
so when it boils up again to bask,
better had buttered up to the task.
For the heat is dimming with each hour,
from the heart of man and of flower,
to bask in the sun of a distant fade,
to have it made before that last spade.
Copyright 2013 © Ronald W. Hull
6/19/13
So the truth is broiled into the heart,
burned in deep at the very start,
I've often wondered why man is able to know TRUTH.
We have reason, we have intelligence, but I wonder
how we come up with the quality of TRUTH.
Hot! Hot! Hot! The humidity is awful here in Virginia. It won't be much longer and I'll be saying I'm too cold!:)
Love and blessings,
Linda+
Axilea
Anna
that radiate hearts..
calling on the winds
Lady Vivian
peace BE WITH YOU
William
Love ya!
Jane
I can relate to this poem completely. It was 100 degrees yesterday here in Connecticut! Haven't seen this kind of heat in a very long time.
Love your poem!
Peace love and light,
Amber
The tempest heat is smoldering verses well seered.
Good Writing.
Lady Mary Ann