RoseAnn V. Shawiak
A Sense Of Dying
Beneath an ordinary sense of being human, lies an
extraordinary sense of dying.
Searching a lifetime for just one understanding
friend, then seemingly losing him because of some-
one else's jealous interference.
Silently, walking quietly alone, holding unshed
tears in a crystal cup, afraid of dropping them -
afraid the sorrow will flow unendingly from inside.
Trying, earnestly to avoid feeling anything, walking
alone, writing, attempting to hide from it, vulnerably
sensitive, heart lying openly within, tragedy seems to
end yet another friendship.
Turning away, ice forms within these eyes, lighting
up the physical iciness of this heart, tranquility
once here has departed - left me stranded as before.
There are no lasting friendships in life, all disappear
so quickly, and I become always, an afterthought.
Seeing nothing, but the same, staring at me from the
future, walking forward anyway, hoping to disintegrate
There are no friends - no acquaintances either - life
must be lived alone, there is nothing left in life for me,
except the end of it.
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