RoseAnn V. Shawiak
Life is non-existent and fills me with sorrow, there is no
safe port or harbor for me to be still in, everything is
Silent being, sandwiched between hate and anger for
situations out of control.
Hanging precariously, the little life I dread is keeping
me for some strange reason.
All is gone, the point of no return has been passed too
often and I can no longer recall what is happening in daily
Remembering is hurting and pain, no forgiveness, only blame
and injustice, sacrificing for absolutely no reason, partaking
in the few crumbs of bread thrown about to feed on.
Sonatas of deep sadness spread themselves throughout my being,
tenderly touching the sore, raw spots of living.
Accounting for nuances sorted into several piles of separate
meanings, life begins and ends on the stage of pregnant death.
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