RoseAnn V. Shawiak
Beating steadily on edges of an Indian's drum, sending
messages from long ago, now no longer.
A place to sit or be, alone in the atmosphere of someone's
history, no longer being misplaced in any areas or spaces
containing materials of a being.
Holding the pieces of nature in the palms of your hands,
letting them all go away with another force of mother nature,
through storms of turmoil.
Pathways forming in avenues of a silent party waiting to be
kept awake throughout the night.
RoseAnn V. Shawiak's Other Poems
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Comments about this poem (Someone's History by RoseAnn V. Shawiak )
Did you read them?
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