Buds Of Imagination Poem by RoseAnn V. Shawiak

Where the first beginnings of a bud becoming a blossom are
hidden, there I am writing alone.

Forgotten pasts, tripping over themselves in order to flee
from the beautiful imaginings happening from their very
beginnings.

Allowing no time for recrimination, pushing aside sorrow,
eventually forgetting it was ever there.

Postponing feelings kept so closely for years, looking instead
to an imagination filled with desirous force, an individual
stance of inborn glory.