Someone asked “how I was doing”.

a volcano inside me
stays dormant hostile
dwelling within stunning
rupture of self   withholding truths
stifling revolutions
swallowing resolutions.
in times of tyranny delusion
between selfies selfhelp
we prayerhands in pretence
to false prophets
for guidance during these dissentious times.
but what of our ancestors? what of their truths?
these days i hum echos of sacred songs
ancient tongues of those before me
i sift through this mayhem
searching for affirmations for something
instead i tangle in these (inter)webs
twisting into profanities so-called promises.
but what of the ancients, i ask?
what of them?
today i climbed naked into a well
poured cool water over my head hoping
soothing this mountain of lava inside me
this fissure of healing
not yet ripe for eruption.

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