RoseAnn V. Shawiak
Creating music of liveliness, wrapped in a violin, playing
to tunes of inner serenity and difficult hardships.
Noting effects of allowable transformations beginning to
take affect, limited not by any sounds or words on earth.
Flying, soaring on angel's wings, taking off towards outer
limits of heaven with the peace of life itself.
At times, reluctantly returning to the reality of what on
earth I am here for.
So far, this life has shown nothing except sadness and
despair, and been filled with despondent depression through-
out, never seeming to lessen even a little bit.
There are others like me, but we cannot seem to communicate
except through poetry, and not always then.
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Comments about this poem (Outer Limits by RoseAnn V. Shawiak )
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Percy Bysshe Shelley
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