Like a slow rumble that builds in power,
A tickle that pushes past the confines of limited form
To shake the very foundations of earth,
Cascading its resonant bass tickling with broken glass
The soprano of sounds, the treble of shrieks,
The repercussions of the tidal wave.
Within their hearts there is comfort with the house
Presence feed the aorta like a reply of echo
The busy nights, the excited jingles, the exalted cheers
That are passed from one friend to another
And continue long into the dawn where they will find
Someone lying in bed, or beside it, curled in a furry ball on the floor
At that time, the purring, the barks, the “good morning sweetie,” begins again.
While, here, in isolation, when the thunderclap dies down
No voice will echo in its passing, and my sighs will fill the room