Obsidian Oblivion

When true obsidian is made it begins with fire from the center of the earth.

Viscous or fluid, lava is cooled too quickly for crystal structures to form.

So I guess that makes one of my favorite stones... actually glass.

Golden, rainbow, mahogany, fire, or apache tears,

tumbled with time they all have that sleek glassy shine.

My fingers find comfort in their smooth edges,

erosion as always a masterful artist.

Cold to the touch, you'd never knew that once this was hot as hellfire.

Like a phoenix egg, it sits in my hand.

Cold, smooth, comforting, cleansing my stress.

Cool as ice water, negativity is captured within the heated heart,

for the glass made from a volcano's hearth.

And should you look into the obsidian's oblivion,

from the inky depths of vibrant iridescent blackness,

you'll find the heart of the rupture upon the top of spewing magma

and perhaps you will see a phoenix rise.

Up from the inky depths of the cold smooth stone in hand,

out of the stone leaving heat in its path.

The smooth black glass once cool in your hand,

reminds us that the most beautiful and sleekest of glass,

was formed from a catastrophic natural mess.