Many Faces

You awoke from the ancient
sleep with a dragon's fire,
spewing black ash into the sky,
raining sulphur upon us.
The world trembled
to molten rivers 
spilled from your cauldron,
forcing us to flee our homes
when they became tinder,
swept away in the torrent.

We journeyed far
across the island
and settled in a valley,
once steaming and sharp
with black glass
like the place
we had left behind.
Given time, wind and rain
had ground the obsidian
into fertile earth.
Here, in your quiet place
between the cliffs,
mists creep through jungles
of tall, spreading ferns.
Birds sing in the trees,
and mosses grow lushly green.

Long ago we cowered
to your battle cry
and cursed your fiery rage.
Now we hear your
morning sighs
and watch your tears
fall upon the rich
black soil.

Scott Speck
05/07/99