Volcano

My Soul is like a volcano,

Needful of an occasional emotional eruption.

Yet so derelict am I situated

That I mainly live with a lack of these outbursts.

I am left here with my Mind,

Filled with oh so many thoughts and feelings

That wait for that moment of confession

A confession that due to this derelictness rarely comes.

“And where do I come in?” You would ask.

“Here,” I would answer and thus begin.

“You are the creator of my happiness, the cause for my sorrow

You are the object of my affection and attention,

The person I curse in times of low.

You make me love Life and turn the stormy skies of my life blue

And yet, moments later, you fill it again with clouds of grey and misery.

You set the basis for a fire of Anger, raging inside of me

Whenever I see you live the moment to the fullest

You make me want to be with you when you are most distant,

But I hate to see you so happy without me around to watch you smiling.

I thoughtlessly blabber in your presence –

because I spend so much time thinking the conversations through in my head beforehand, In the land of the Imaginary, sense of Reality is strictly banned.

You confuse me the most; after all this time, when is the right moment to tell you?

You fool! Why do you turn so serious with me yet so physical and attention-seeking with others?”,-

But at this moment, you would leave,

Just as you have many times before  

And I would be left to answer the question I wanted to pose:

The answer I must find out, and once I do

That long-longed-for eruption will take place

And a new landscape shall be formed.

With or without you in it

 to marvel with me at its beauty.