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Magma Chamber

Things rot and often spoil
Dropping patch of rich oil;
Drilling deep unto the soil
Searching for a good resource

Deeper I go, though hitting rocks..
No one knows the underground
Is other than a burial ground
Neither a place for heavy hands

To gain more golds over lands
I journeyed into bottomless
To find heaps of lonely sands
Different colors; as it stands

The dirt became my only friend
Very often she advised I bend
That men are selfish evil clones
That unwrap her to steal her stones

What is flesh, without a soul
What is depth, without a hole
Notably she said, not only breath
Has a right to dwell and to exist

Then she screamed and began boiling
Across the surface it was vibrating
Then I heard people screaming
The magma chamber is coughing.

©2018 Vinzpoetry.wordpress.com
Onyeche Vincent Onyekachukwu

Cyclone irma

Most organisms have arms
Arm to heal, feed and farm
None should pose earth harm
Or to harvest life from barn.

But disasters come with no chill
Over warm bodies willing to kill
Cyclones are arms of deadly pills
Spinning anticlockwise causing pains

Over Houston it made us so sad
Cyclone into the Rico’s will be bad
Irma on Caribbean, who plays the card?
Earth of no cyclone will make us glad.

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