RoseAnn V. Shawiak
Rippled water touching my imagination with proliferation,
subconsciously entertaining self within abysses waiting to
Silence beckons thoughtful stances, becoming major works
of art through literature.
Watching reflections wave back and forth in rhythm, with
wind blowing across faces of this earth.
Wordlessly carrying breaths of fresh air wherever it goes,
freedom of being is it's fare in life.
Wandering rhythmically with sounds, foreign and domestic,
drawing in a universe and space of people.
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Comments about this poem (Rhythmic Reflections by RoseAnn V. Shawiak )
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
William Ernest Henley
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