Burning feelings, hot like lava, flow from my heart into my brain
Slowly moving, without pause,
As natural as rain.
In my skull my brain gets full,
My head now craves reduction;
So I pick up my black pen and I strain for the eruption.
Unto the page, hot magma flows,
Pulsing from my beating heart.
I sit back and watch it harden,
Hopefully as art.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem