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This Cold Side



The world between us is hot at its core,
but next to me it's cold,
and next to you it's cold,
and so we mistake it for cold.
But deep inside it boils,
and deep inside it seethes.
Pressing my face to this cold side,
I think—I think!—I can hear its anger,
but I can't hear you.
Are you listening too?
Are you even listening to the fire inside?
I'll bet you've long since gotten up and started walking.
I'll bet you're walking like you've somewhere else to go.
Or maybe that's just the deep down magma fury moving.

All poems are written and copyrighted by Michael C. Rush.
None may be republished or repurposed without permission.