Some call me sweet, some feel a burn. They tend to weep. Not my concern. I rise from depths, yet reach for sun. Tears flow forth and noses run.

Curved crescent cloaked in yellow, sweet companion of monkeys, and slips beneath feet like a sneaky fellow.

Ever burning, ever dying. Those around me whirling, flying. Fusing that which burns to float, covered in a windy moat. Oft exaggerated flares. Little to my light compares. No father, mother do I have. My light a seaman's scalding salve.

I dwell where fire once kissed the stone, in silent cliffs and caverns grown. I’m born in time, through pressure deep, yet in my gleam, no light shall sleep. Kings have craved my glassy might; dark as night. Sharp as light. What am I?

Greener than grass, at times often crass, a monster I can be. Though, sometimes I strive, to give one a drive...Mostly I torment thee, eating grudges with glee, poisoning thy minds sea.