The Lava Rock

My brilliant pumice lava rock,
Is endowed with darkness and no light.
It even rewinds the clock,
Of when it was given to me on my birthday,
In Italy by Mount Vesuvius when the sun shone hot and bright.

Throughout the talisman,
Are minerals that shine
Even if they did not want to you, but can
Appear in any mystical jewel vein,
That will perhaps get emitted from a volcano in disarray and not in a line

It’s the starry blanket that nocturnally,
That cloaks the world in a cycle.
That cloaks my imagination diurnally.
Yet being the musty alleyways of the ancient days of London,
Makes more of the dark entities it already has of dark icicles

The surface is coarse,
Like sandpaper scarped against gravel
Having the black colour of the mane of a horse,
And is the brightest star,
Especially when it reawakens my youthful dormant thoughts as it is always to me, a marvel.