Sicilian Blood

Sicilian blood that runs through me
courses through my veins
and just like Mt. Vesuvius
erupts when anger remains.
It's at these times I take a breath
and silently count to ten.
I let that lava cool itself
by picking up my pen.

I write about love. I write about peace
and release the red-hot flow.
When I'm finished with the write
it let's the anger go.
Sicilian blood, you may run through me
and sometimes you may boil.
But as long as I have my word to write
my peace you will never spoil.

poem by Edwina Reizer
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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