RoseAnn V. Shawiak
Like A Teardrop
Deftly turning into recesses of the deepest interior.
Holding onto small fragments of a broken heart, feeling lost and empty, with no one to impart them to.
Soul-turning sorrow wrenching apart the little bit of love left over from a broken friendship.
Delaying the inevitable, trying desperately to fold in upon itself.
Hiding inside could get rid of the pain and doubt - if only it could be done!
Lying open, bleeding, turning cold as ice - left for dead before the evening begins.
Turning over silently, tears dripping down a face, eyes look straight through you and are lost upon a deserted shore.
No one can follow this lost soul or share it's heart, the journey it must take is long and hard.
Over treacherous mountains, scaling highest elevations - then falling down among dirt-filled cisterns, no one to love.
Steadfastly walking through unending canyons, finding deep their very chasms.
Left alone to find a path of it's own making - left alone without a love to console it.
Sloshing through mud mired fields of yesterday, tiring of all the filth and dirt.
So urgently praying for the cleanliness of a clean and holy spirit.
Left alone to walk along endless shores of sand, finding no one to hold hands.
So empty, thrashing along winter's edge of darkness, skidding headlong into blackest pits of hell today.
A loving heart - it has no lips by which to speak it's mind.
Only brokenness may cause it to utter a sobbing cry.
Sorrow totally rent within, breaking apart all loveliness with a sin of departing drops of tears.
Left unshed, undefiled, yet totally alone in life, like a teardrop, I fall gently - silently - and am washed away.
RoseAnn V. Shawiak's Other Poems
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (Like A Teardrop by RoseAnn V. Shawiak )
Did you read them?
- Shut up for good, gajanan mishra
- The Enemy, Jose Orozco
- आथिखाल, Ronjoy Brahma
- Life is Nothing but Texture~, Mr. Nobody Nothing
- How Is Your Life In The Matrix?, Mr. Nobody Nothing
- That bench is my dear., Rm.Shanmugam Chettiar.
- Loneliness, Ashwini Annigeri
- समनि नायथाय- 25, Ronjoy Brahma
- I am not uttering, gajanan mishra
- Holy and pure, hasmukh amathalal
Poem of the Day
- 04 Tongues Made Of Glass, Shaun Shane
- If, Rudyard Kipling
- The Road Not Taken, Robert Frost
- Daffodils, William Wordsworth
- 1914 V: The Soldier, Rupert Brooke
- If You Forget Me, Pablo Neruda
- Still I Rise, Maya Angelou
- Phenomenal Woman, Maya Angelou
- Nothing Gold Can Stay, Robert Frost
- A Dream Within A Dream, Edgar Allan Poe
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
- Heather Burns
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(27 March 1926 – 25 July 1966)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)