My Volcanic Rock

Once a vibrant red,
But not feared for colours bred.
Feared for his fiery flame,
Engulfing villages, just a game.

Once he died out,
Black, like his colour couldn’t sprout.
My grandparents found it,
Coloured, a torch left unlit.

They carried it on a plane,
To Australia they came.
Then gifted it to me,
A bond was created with he.

Half is rough, unlike the other.
Which I smooth, they’re unlike the other.
Which is smooth, they’re unlike one another.
Helping me through thick and thin.
Reminding me of good times back then.

Now lonely upon shelf.
Gazing upon myself.
Sadly to say it’s need no more.
Its purpose for fulfilled right to its core.