Feel the Heat
Beating down onthe day,
making bricks of malleable clay,
making black goo of hot asphalt,
making excuses for finding fault.
Seeping in, in the night,
heat's hot breath, out of sight,
sears with passion, fiery lust,
tongues of ecstasy, gently thrust.
Whirlwinds of the heat's wrath,
suck up the cycles in its path,
spin out the seeds of sloth,
into mountains of molten truth.
Branded into the hearts of man,
fiery rhythm boils up again,
instilling a distilling taste of fire,
water cannot quench inner desire.
Tattooing on a hot tin roof,
ash's pelting would not be enough,
for a skin of that fine true color,
could not out burn the sky's dark pallor.
So the truth is broiled into the heart,
burned in deep at the very start,
so when it boils up again to bask,
better had buttered up to the task.
For the heat is dimming with each hour,
from the heart of man and of flower,
to bask in the sun of a distant fade,
to have it made before that last spade.
For everyone out there in the
heat wave... it's a heat wave here in
Texas from March to November
Copyright 2013 © Ronald W. Hull