Forces – A poem by Philip Wardlow

Forces  –
The needle moves
ever so slightly
on the seismograph.
Tracing an outline on paper of a potential
with no timetable.
Tensions, Friction, and Pressures
are building,
As traces of you run through
the cracks and fissures of
my brain.
A low rumble not discernible by the naked ear emits
a pocket of trapped steam released from a
great depth.
Building, ever building.
Keep your distance,
it’s not safe to be so close.
to the summit.
For there is no telling when
I might explode.
By Philip Wardlow

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