The Scum Crux

This is mound is the crux,
Corruption bubbles,
Beneath us,
Tension rises,
Below these plates,
Rumbles, courses through,
The magma streams.

It’s ready to pop,
The lids gonna fly of this one.
Unable to halt the overflow.

Consuming all,
In a few vomiting acts,
As if the sun suddenly burned,
Ten times brighter.

I can hear witches cackles,
Over fraudulant brews,
Closet warlords,
Their warlock egos,
Hocking nonesense,
But still,
Convincing the future.

Already metamorphic,
I’ve changed,
With pressure and time,
Still feeling echos,
From India bellowing,
Moving through the core.

Escape from the static,
And an end to modernity,
This is flooding,
Bone dry canyon valleys.