A hole lay, just the size of me,
in the base of a willow tree.
A rabbit hole, no hares to see,
Where hares and rabbits ought to be.

I slip within, the darkness thick,
The floor is hard, the walls are slick.
I'm cramped inside, my breaths are quick,
My teeth make lips too ripped to lick.

I'm drawn in deep, like moth to flame,
I'd never dreamed before I came,
Cautious; things don't stay same,
The giggles shudder in this game.

My company creeps and scurries near,
we fall and crawl in puzzled fear.
There's something else that lingers here.
The bugs and rats have stopped to leer.

Crying! Squeaking! Scurry back!
Stampedes of pests stream, strong and black,
Over, under, they trample a track.
Gone, they go, escape attack.

And when I brace to feel the bite,
I grasp at sudden strands of light,
The night has broken, dawn brings light.
The willow splits to weep, contrite.

I free myself, and give a whoop,
the trail within had made a loop!
And nevermore I dare to snoop,
To peek within the willow's stoop.

There is a stream that drifts below me,
Not lingering, it seeps away.
The water creeps around the rocks
and ebbs with mindful swiftness.

I close my eyes and listen;
Ignore the wind that sticks my skin
And if I hear the brook below,
Then perhaps I will return to you.

I crane for twinkling, water moving,
Hear nothing, not at all.
No whisper of the whipping wind
that dances on the water.

Water flows, as infinitely restrained,
As blood that surges from a wound.
It hurts to see; this hurts to hear;
Just nothing, loud as silence.

Words that warm my heart and soul
Are cut into glass as cold and clear as
the stormy skies.
Sent to me in black and white,
   -emotionless, uninviting.
Yet they heat my frozen limbs,
And send the blood racing to my fingertips;
   -white and cold as snow.
To my face which glows with blushing light,
To my toes which curl in happiness.
A coil restricts my chest, it seems.
And breaths grow shallow and daunted.
My ribs will break, my breath will go,
And I will live vicariously through you;
Your words in cloudy skies and black ink,
   -And cut glass.

Everywhere I walk-everywhere I go;
the titles follow like aftershave.
They're not warm, they're not soft,
They're not enveloping,
They give a bland emotion to their matter.
       This is Big.
       These are People.
       They are Insignificant.
Titles follow everywhere.
like shadows to our frames.

I stand behind a pane of glass,
it's tinted, from outside.
Friends in front will speak to me,
But they see only their tinted reflections.

I've often wondered, while I walk,
and watch as people pass,
Why when their glance turns to me,
None will meet my eye?

I'm a listener, you should know,
I listen, rarely speak.
My life's a bore, why should I?
But I wish that they would care.

When I do speak,
they look away, and they cringe inside.
I know its lame, I know, I heard.
And I wish my mouth stayed shut.

I'd meet a lesson kindly,
if it'd dilute my window's tint.
But for now, I watch, as clear as day,
While they speak to me through darkened glass.

In absence,
A lost key is only
                   A catastrophe,
When the door is locked from the outside,
And everything important is within.

That is when we are reaquianted,
With an old concept.
One that can occur to anyone-
                              If they have the mind to lose the key.
It is the called,
                  The snowball effect.
When we are to leave without our prizes inside.
And all that is taken for granted,
Is kept beyond the width of a door.

But most of all, there is one,
Who will again take for granted his prizes,
And lose them along the way.

And although, these are not materialistic prizes,
They are prizes of greater worth than any
Kept behind that blasted door.

When these, his friends,
Give sacrifice, and he cares not to thank them.
When these, gifts to an undeserving man,
Are asked yet again, and these favors are not repaid.

This, is the snowball effect.
Something that can occur to anyone,
                    -if they have the mind to take their prizes for granted
Or ever have the idiocy to lose the key that unlocks them.
For locked out he may be,
This man has lucked out.