RoseAnn V. Shawiak
Goals Of Yesterday
Lines statuesquely standing, reminding all of the time we
put into life.
There are no short cuts, no secret doors to let us out of
what we perceive to be our fate.
Constantly, we fall through barriers, run down barricades,
to find ourselves at the same exact spot in life we thought
we had left years before, a little wiser perhaps, but no
closer to our goals of yesterday.
Degrees of paper, penned with ink, hung on walls of ebony,
surrounded by the mahogany of petrified wood.
Taken down, moved, placed in a different room, reminding
once again of all the time we put into life and it's agile
footholds, unsecured, passed over, left to ruins and distant
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