Amidst Panama’s wreckage,

Behind ruins of Atlantis,

Hurricane met Earthquake.

And out from the terror,

The destruction, the decimation,

Emerged Volcano:

Created for ruination.

He abhorred barbarism—

The atrocities of man.

And yet still did he commit,

And yet still did he harm 

Anything within his grasp.

They Shriveled. 

And Burned. 

And reduced to dying embers.

Even as life he tried to give,

It was life he reverted;

Flying butterflies of ash.

“Why do they burn?”

He asked but one day.

And the Earthquake frowned, 

The Hurricane spoke and wept:

“We’ve no talent,” she said through tears,

“Other than to destroy.”

And the Volcano, he stared,

Though he learned not to cry,

For when tears of magma fell out,

Someone always died.