RoseAnn V. Shawiak Poems

Whiling away existence, listening to a different drummer play a rhythm all my own.
Roaming through my imagination, kicking up dust, exposing my inner personality, delivering self from suffering as I immerse myself in depths of musical rhythms.
Giving up my being to music of my soul, regretting none of it.
Foregoing modern technology to just be myself and enjoy what I can of my life while I'm here.
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Penetrating thoughts following measures of rhythm, aligning themselves with untold powers of persuasion.
Counting down beats to an everlasting portion of reality.
Following tradition, sending signs through the years, allowing thoughts to be written and fend for themselves.
Distinguishing only to interior periods of harmony.
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Alighting from interior thought, grief climbs off of it's cycle, watching tears fall deeply into sorrowful pits of human loneliness.
Being filled with an increasing emptiness, solidly building itself within - a category of tepid landscapes in misery.
Palpable darkness forming on every horizon, taking with it a formidable part of life into a steaming abyss of unforgiveness.
Totally absorbed in puddles of tears left unattended on shores of unlimited grief.
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Sophisticated, shy, complex, yet simple to know.
Asking questions will always give answers if you really want to know who I am or have become.
Silently hidden beneath the years and others to protect myself from hurt feelings.
Recognizing certain traits and behaviors as they pop up in images, emitted from my brain.
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Clacking rhythms into melodies of sublime landscapes, revolving down highways in periods of serenity.
Inviting tones into existence, creating beautiful exercises of poetry.
Laughter spilling out into the crowd, offering an association of fun and companionship to all who enter the establishment.
Finding themselves in a latent position of energetic facsimiles.
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Realizing that everything is just a temporary situation,
settling for it at any cost, because it's better than the
alternative.
Stranded in a lonely paradise with nothing to show for it.
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Sequestered in a silent tomb of misgivings, searching the walls for answers written from long ago.
Finding nothing relevant, becoming a hermit hidden away from life, knowing there's nothing to remember, even on stormy winter evenings.
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