Below the rock, the embers wait,
a breath withheld by Hades’ gate,
no crack, no tremor tests the state.
It glows below.
Not yet.

The weight is old, the dark is tight,
the molten keeps its muted rite;
no upward surge, no birth of light.
It glows below.
Not yet.

Through hidden stone the currents creep,
their vow maintained in soundless sleep;
the chamber guards what fire will reap.
It glows below.
Not yet.

The pressure folds, the strata ache,
the buried voltages awake;
still silence holds, refusing break.
It glows below.
Not yet.

A warning hums the inner seam,
a heat that bends the planet’s dream,
the pulsing show of pressure’s scheme.
It glows below.
Not yet.

Then stone unbinds its welded core,
the long delay becomes a door;
the dark erupts in molten roar.
It glows below.
Now.

The ash ascends, the night unmade,
the old horizons burned and flayed;
within the ruin, space is laid.
It glows below;
Becomes.

And through the breach new vapours rise,
a shaping breath in cooling skies;
from shattered crust a future cries.
Reborn below
through fire.