Sore.

As it strikes the ground,

The earth rattles;

Unbroken still,

The surface holds.

Underneath,

A secret keep,

Where lava is hidden,

Boiling to a temp.

Not of fury,

But comes flowing,

From a melted core,

The inside of what's sore.

Still alive, but nonchalant,

One day no longer turbulent,

Until then, learn to withstand,

Thunder and lightning;

When will it end?

Sun-shining day,

Come quick.