Shallow,
but a rumble,
that scratches at the surfaces,
growing, growling, rumbling,
till trembling,
ricochets around the cavity,
building up,
bursting through,
up, out, everywhere,
outside shaking,
heart quakes.

Like a twenty-two pound hummingbird,
is beating, flitting,
inside.
Thrumming wings,
sending vibrations,
shuddering.

The flower,
once filled with sweet nectar,
drained dry,
sickly sticky,
a vivid hue,
turned grey.

As the bear hibernates,
it's snores echo,
sending rattles,
starting clatter,
shatter.
My heart thrashes inside my chest.

There is nothing left,
the world is cold,
Ponderous thoughts.

Life twisted into many knots,
Today may I be so bold,
as to look over the cleft.

Lean toward the chasm,
bring a smile to my face,
say hello.

Glare into the sun of yellow,
Stare into outer space,
Care to fathom....

The rain streaks,
down my cheeks.
Clouding,
In eyes of shrouding.
Dark days are ahead,
Replacing sunny ones instead.
Till the day that I will pose the question,
what are your feelings toward me?
It will end.

Precursor Feelings:
(Impossible
that it's raining here
that I wish I was crying
while I wish I wasn't.

I want to stand in the rain,
scream your name,
see you,
me.)

[I want something to happen.]

It's a roller coaster,
I was going up,
the cranking, clattering, goodness golly gee,
I was happy.
But then I got to the top,
and the moment,
of hesitation,
I was stuck there, stationary...
Now I fall.

I have fallen thrice.
Once was for you,
Twice was the end of us,
Thrice is now.

Now, I fall.
Because though I teeter on the ledge,
I lean forward,
in my seat,
and fall over the edge.
Down the track.

The sinking feeling of utter despair.
I pushed too hard and a wall was raised.
Simply put, I threw myself into a bottomless pit.
There is no light at the end,
where there was at the beginning.
There is nothing to touch,
what was left, has faded.
Tendrils, wisps.
Clawing through, around.
It is empty.
And Black.

I fear what I do not understand.

It is not a call to arms.
It was not meant to be bellowed as that of a battle cry.
The first of thousands.
It was not an arrow.
Strung tight,
released,
seeking to damage.
It was not this.
Is it knowledge on the upper shelf that only those who put it there can reach?
Because a turtle,
who used to be a girl,
would like to know.

His origins, unknown. (He cannot remember that far back)
The first light,
blinded him.
But he could feel the others,
always around him.
Jostling, cramped, comfortable.
He settled down,
further,
until he was close to the bottom.
There,
it was dark.
The noise was less.
But it changed.
He awoke to trembles and whispers,
that turned into a fearful clamor.
They were tipped and tumbled.
He struck the cold surface,
hard.
A jet stream tore his skin,
exposing his light tan under.
All round,
they were naked too.
His shame turned to fury.
Salt was blasted into his wounds,
and then he was tossed in,
he was no longer with his kind.
Others, strangers.
Some were bigger,
some were green,
a few smelled sweetly.
Thoroughly mixed.
Then poured into canisters.
Darkness beckoned,
but this change was new, unsettling.
............
Sudden jolts, and then he and the others tumbled into a clear bowl.
The words on what had been his holding for a month read: "mixed nuts and candy, eat by tomorrow."
He was surprised,
frightened.
He needed to survive.
Struggling to the top, he lunged over,
and toppled over the side onto the floor,
under the ottoman.
He was never missed.
The salt dried him,
cracked,
he thought about giving in and letting the curious schnauzer, Jeffrey, find him.
But, then he found the green bicycle.
A child's toy it was,
but then the game piece gave him hope.
He donned the high hat,
jumped aboard his vessel,
and stared ahead.
He was angry,
alone,
it was too dark here.
He rode out into the light.
Immediately swerving out the open screen door to avoid Jeffrey.
There he found a daisy,
reminding him of a field.
It was green there,
peaceful,
a field of his own,
anger.
It was gone,
Taken.

Beginning in a night,
and lasting through.
Shock.
Bitterness.
Few bursts of anger.
Talking,
sharing,
secrets told.
Sadness,
tears,
and longing.
"Why?" Rained down with other questions.
To the point,
of dismissive.

"I don't want to be a girl,
I want to be a turtle."

There were happy notes,
permitted as they were.
Amongst,
Friends.
Family.
Myself.

Back.
Up.
Beautiful was/is:
butterflies,
overturned and stuck,
ocean water confining them,
to a shorter life,
when the waves wash,
higher, higher,
plucked away.
From the wet sand,
lifted into the sky,
brought to a plant,
two,
maybe three, made it.

Of cats,
strays though they were,
with food and beds under the pier.
Of the lady,
who shared her lunch,
crawling under the deteriorating boards,
to fill their bowls.

Fast-forward.
To friends,
rejoined with smile.
Though sad with an emotional pain,
of laying there,
in self.
Best friend-talks.
Friend-talks.
Family-talks.
Person-to-dog talks.
All these.

Seventy,
in the dark,
with no music.

Then July.
Fireworks,
on the seventh,
shared on the third.
A slight battle for a chair,
settled with laughter as half went to one,
and other to other.

Of walking,
in the rain,
after and before,
not during.
The ground is damp,
music pulsates.
Removed,
then off.
Birds,
the name of the wind,
two ways,
beautiful.
The sounds,
remembrance,
of home,
of before,
of the present,
of the during that became the past.
A deep pit,
opened,
also happiness.

Beautiful things are,
the wind tousling short hair: present,
thunder and lightning rolling in: present,
wrestling on the floor: past,
filled with a sudden joy as soon as a presence (his) was spotted: past,
shooting games: past
first kiss: past,
first love: past.

Of remembering,
the good and the bad,
the tough ways of learning,
of forgiveness,
of a new experience,
of tears for new reasons,
of the word "olive,"
of messing up,
of being,
of beautiful things.

"In the sky,
above the clouds,
are more clouds."

(and release)