Twisted Fate Poem by RoseAnn V. Shawiak

Opening up the window of my soul, tracing it's origin back
to birth, cascading delicately like fragile lace along out-
skirts of mental anguish, exfoliating the breath of being.

Tripping through country lanes of independent memories,
carrying trickles of decency sacrificed in spring, lacking
in major necessities, striving for some kind of security.

Realizing there is none, I capture feelings of abandoned
hope, lost forever on a clothesline of someone else's future.
tangible reckonings creating the only bit of satisfaction
known to an inner creature of habit.

Selecting many options, separating them in drawers for later
use is a task I confess is of no usefulness, blown about by
twisted winds of fate, licensure does not equate with ideas
of power.

Picking up thousands of excuses, keeping them hidden from
view, never thinking to misuse them, all the while, stranded
on an inner tropical island, fighting a war with tangled
ancient jungles of past life.