RoseAnn V. Shawiak Poems

Interrupted voice being clouded by a sound that just can't seem to be sung tonight, wandering along trails that wind throughout forests of make-believe.

Not having anywhere to rest or hide from mistakes made in life, searching, hoping to find some semblance of love, sitting back, drinking coffee.
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Walking dreamily beneath a starry sky that holds a spell just for a poet taking time to walk in the darkness alone.

An interior peaceful feeling that holds heart and mind so tightly, taking rhythms gently hand in hand.
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A lone chair standing at an empty table, maybe feeling the sadness of someone who has yet to come and stop for a while.

A heart having been beaten until it's black and blue from a constant barrage of abuse through the years, giving off only messages of a poverty in love.
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Murmurs of heated discussions still hanging in the air after you have turned away, leaving this woman's heart alone and bereaved.

Nothing left but to walk into a land of past dreams, no longer wanting to be treated by an abusive love that should never have happened in a once peaceful woman's life.
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Swift rhythms tossing their tones back and forth in the atmosphere, softening and cheering in the night.

Not really wanting to dance to the music, giving away temptations as they sneak into the rhythms.
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Listening to the abuse of a beautiful woman being sung outright in a song, its rhythms touching the truth of what has happened to a woman who's never found true love.

Yet through the years continues to keep looking anyway, never seeming to find the love she deserves in life more
than anyone.
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Instructions of being left alone and crying in the night, shadows gathering around, hoping to sooth an aching and empty heart.

One that continues to be loved and dropped, never seeming to find that one special person who would fit artistic designs in musical rhythms while being wooed in lying lullabyes.
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Pumping rhythms unceasingly taken to the merry-go-round of a lifetime dream, never able to gather the clues in order to make a life of happiness and usefulness.

Memories never being kept sacredly, only being tossed aside in garbage pails of another's life, bent out of shape and destroyed by lies.
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Music being rounded up in circles of rhythms that entice and applaud an inner innate talent, specially trusted, no longer hanging about in a lonely passageway.

No one ever there to turn on the beauty of what should be happening in life, but never seems to happen, so what's a woman to do?
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Riding horseback, up and down in rhythms that know how to gallop to any type of music, loving their sensations as they're grounded from within notes being played and sung.

Leaving nothing alone, just keeping on, boot scooting down tunnels of a life that has no future to speak of, walking in steps of many who've gone down them before.
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