RoseAnn V. Shawiak Poems

Envelopes of sadness lie unopened, abandoned, left to their own demise.
Tearing them open is not in my plan, so I just glance at them now and then and walk away.
Finding some other way to ignore the sadness awaiting me beyond the doors I have closed upon them.
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Sensing a detrimental occurrence happening in the past as it drips into my soul without fear of being captured and thrown out.
Accepting it, testing and giving it expression helps to calm it down.
Being able to deal with it's feelings expressly in words written to expose all hidden aspects of whatever happens to be stepping out into the light of day - finally.
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Smiling interiorly as music and it's rhythm calms and soothes my brain.
Releasing feelings stressing me is a wonderful euphoria to my intellect and soul where wisdom lies in anticipation.
Gently, laid to rest, no more hopes or dreams, just tones of rhythm keeping me in a quiet, serene atmosphere that no one can interfere with no matter how loud or insistent they happen to be.
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Talking into eternity,
watching for signs of peaceful acquiescence.
Traipsing down avenues of secluded loneliness,
finding particles of anticipation lying around,
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Wind shivering through trees, shaking them, mercilessly without reprieve, hoping to find some sense in what they're doing on earth's shores.
Listlessly tantalizing unusual feelings, touching upon severe tensions hiding within, wanting to be released and sent away.
Noting that only bits of stress are released at a time, evenly keeping time with adjusting beats of rhythms in yesterday's melodies.
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Silently investigating questions of life-long ambitions as they are felt indefinitely in places of intellect.
Always questioning, pushing away, pulling self afar - keeping distance from authority so I can be myself and independent all days of my life.
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Staring into space, looking around for something to jump out and enter a poem of insatiable delight.
Interior fervor inviting special schemes of differences to appear in unorderly sequences of reprieve, unduly represented by inordinate details, chasing pictures on a screen, while thinking in abstracts for time eternal.
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Thinking back, relaxing in a revelry of imagination, dreaming of extraordinary feats of intense soliloquy, pretending to be interested in a quality of interior essences.
Yet, really lolling around, waiting to find an escape into a land of wonder and fulfillment under the guise of writing.
Lilting tones, managing to filter into scores of notes as they play unendingly in my mind.
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