Collective Museums Poem by RoseAnn V. Shawiak
Collective Museums
Calling cards being driven home to islands of another plain,
taking me into the collective museums of another life, filled
with memories of the past.
No longer being needed to protect me, just there as reminders
of how far I have come in this life.
Satisfied with where I have landed, regretting nothing that has
made me become who I am today.
Insisting on keeping low-key episodes of parody in life.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/29/2024 2:16:08 AM # 1.0.0.1119
