RoseAnn V. Shawiak
Beds Of Satin
Deep in my heart, feelings stir, quelling any doubts
of insincere thoughts.
Lying on fragile beds of lace, not wanting to journey
past indignant meanings, standing to sides of pathways, regretting their existence.
Folding away energy into mattresses of old, tucking in
around the edges, uneclipsable moments in space.
Moths of ages lured to flames of lightened knowledge,
quickly burned away, leaving only ashes to say they
were here once upon a time.
Eons pass, all things end in places of their own, on
final beds of satin.
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