RoseAnn V. Shawiak Poems

Respectfully finding things of purpose in life, walking away, yet steady in a vibrancy of being, staying persistent, never giving up hope, having faith that's never lessened.

Through the years only growing and expand more than anyone will ever know, having an interior spiritual life, continuing to exercise mind and intellect in depths of being.
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Rushing, dancing, feeling reverberations of past echoes lifting spirits, taking a mind into another dimension, one that's filled with an intuitive energy and knowledge.

Always seeming to give an extra boost to all things natural, with a good kindness that continues far into the future to bring many blessings to a person.
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Rousting energy, taking self into avenues of wonder and intense curiosity, relieving pressures of an overwhelming sadness that has stood in a heart of sorrow.

Harping upon sacred measures of bliss that come and go in destiny's passages while still living in the present pasts of tomorrow.
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Energetically being touched interiorly, feeling the comprehensive outlook of faith as it continues to develop throughout life and the living of it.

To be young again would be nice, but not wanting to go through hell again when Mom died, because she suffered to much the first time around.
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Fires rising higher in a blast of passion, desires running wild - taking love into channels of adventure and discovery when alone together.

Pulling the beauty of unconditional love out into the open, watching layers of interior embers igniting fires within our hearts.
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Sun shining as brightly as it can as it slowly descends upon a western horizon in Phoenix, Arizona, its tell-tale rays doing their best to keep earth lit enough to see what we're doing.

Now ebbing further down upon the horizon, filling the sky with brilliantly colored oranges, reds, yellows, almost hiding below the mountains, throwing shadows across the desert floor now.
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Cowboys riding in the Phoenix desert, being thrown from bucking bulls here behind Outlaws.

Little children in the mutton bronc's, holding on for dear life, getting thrown in spite of how tightly they hold on.
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Riding upon a whiskey river song, writing and contemplating all the while, finding just the right meanings and definitions to describe what's being seen.

Hurrying through rhythms, letting them hammer on drums, beats of excellence while strumming a guitar of hope, reaching interiorly, holding onto a sacred promise.
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Watching the sun as it's disappearing behind the mountains on our western horizon, hot air balloons quietly floating in the orange, yellow and red colors put there by our artistic God.

Rasping fingers across a guitar, playing an upbeat rhythms while singing rhyming in the present, talking about the past and missing it in the future as it silently comes to an end.
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A good ol' cowboy, T.C., from the time he was born, raising and training his first buffalo when he was only nine years old, a great love for training it to do his biding.

Riding him this evening, a grown man, shooting balloons from his seat upon this fascinating animal, so wildly beautiful and loving of his friend, T.C.
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