Scared Not Knowing Poem by James McLain

The Shape of The Tree
and the force that bent it over.
Bent more,
than the wind ever should.
Scared not knowing!
Will it come again?
When, where and why.
Herculaneum in it's life it declines.
Buried it's long deep roots.
Trying still to.
Hot rock and ash.
Standing, then moving.
Red thick and running molten
rivers of it.
Isolated out there once upon it.
An island once here now gone.
Death is not Preferably,
but swiftly the gas is not methane.
Pyroclastic ashy rivers, consume it.