He gently passes the designed house
The abode of his stone muse.
His mouth then crafts and blows
Rings of smoke that emerge slow.
Words which follow words more
Occupy his mind and create power.
Life is like the speckled sky.
He hangs his head as fate defied.
The man beneath his thick-skinned crust,
Struggles in the dark confinement,
To assert with a power dormant,
Conspiring where the lava boils,
And remain potentially dangerous!