I hold it in the light
Tiny rays shine through
I rest it on my hand
No one sees, but me.
I will not share.

I rest it close.
I pull it off and never will I tell
what is and isn't.
I put it in the drawer
safe from sight.
Put away.

It was better than moonlight.
It was better than birds singing in morning.
It was the sweetness of youth.
It was to be a wonderful memory.
But is was truly nothing.
It was soon forgotten.
It was never forgiven.
It was just a mistake.

Some days I feel so deep,
Others I am numb.
I have felt so much
My heart is covered by  turtle shell.
I feel no more.

I have no more to share.
No truth to tell.
I stare blankly
When once I was amazed.
Now I am unmoved.

My turtle shell is heavy.
I rest with blank dreams.
Please reserve my place in life.
I'll be back with my shell
pushed back.
Just not this day.

Lonesome house in the field.
No longer full of voices.
No longer full of family.
Where lives bloomed.
Where tragedy came.
Left abandoned.

Lonesome house in the field.
No longer claimed.
No longer wanted.
With front porch dipping down.
In graceful bow to passing traffic.

Lonesome house sitting in the field.
No longer stories.
No longer groomed.
With golden fields surrounding,
Collapsing dreams forever lost
in a pile of wood coming down.

Her kind jade eyes full of love.
Her wrinkled hand wiped tears and swatted bees.
Her caring lips murmured soothing words.
Her arms reached round my shoulders.
Her heart so full of thought.
Her love for me without condition.
Her teachings not forgotten.
Her prayers for me heard by God.
Her house, my sanctuary.
Her sense of humor, full of youthful play.
Her spot now empty in the world.
Her wings now firmly placed.

It is a sickness.
Words pour from me
Truth and fantasy
Since a child.
I have a writing disorder.
People run for fear I'll share.

When in the fever, it spills from me
on napkins and paper bags.
It surrounds me.
It drowns me.

The disorder seizes me.
Words written in lost notebooks
long forgotten.
The writings disappear, but the sickness
never goes.

Uncontrollably, as green in May,
words spread over me.