RoseAnn V. Shawiak
Singing the requiescent song of internal nature, posing for
the picture of life, not one which is everlasting.
Disappointment abounding throughout many hardships, sapping
strength that you didn't have.
What is the actual reason of living, if not to aid others
in times of desperate need?
There seems to be no other special purpose for being other
Will life always be so full of external meanings that we
will never find the solitude and peace of mind we all crave?
RoseAnn V. Shawiak's Other Poems
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