Paper Images Poem by RoseAnn V. Shawiak

Blossoms popping their beauty fragrantly into my eyes as I
pass by.

Tranquilly easing into the easy chair of life, unbending,
uncaring, bent upon inner destruction.

Thinking alone, long and hard about reasons for staying
alive.

Tearing into the very bowels of my being, ripping apart
whatever was once there.

No longer wondering what to do next, unfailingly tired of
doing my best.

Riffling through paper images, attempting to put them in
order, finding no sense for even collecting and storing
them in jars.

Alleviating the saddened pain of yesterday is a task much
too great to complete, there is no ending and I admit defeat.