RoseAnn V. Shawiak Poems

Reading music even as a band plays it at the same time, only this mere poet doesn't have a sheet of music before her.

Knowing the notes being played, swaying to music as it takes this poet along banks of melodies being played.
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Looking inwardly, finding feelings with their heads down, bent over in a deepened sadness that cannot be tamed for some reason in life.

Leaving it all within, having no reasons for life being struck down in questions forthcoming in the night, yet the sadness keeps one always looking for answers that're never spoken aloud.
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One person alone, looking quietly into the future, having no reprieve in life except in musical rhythms as they take this mere poet straight into their interior depths.

There they're held in a warm embrace throughout the night, holding onto empty bridges in life, hoping for new places to walk into while writing poetry and listening to music.
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Looking within broken dreams that have been dispersed through the years, their pieces never able to be picked up or repaired for there; s no way to fix abuse that's been put upon a woman.

There having never been a single solitary reason for the abuse in this vacated world, living in a life filled with sorrow, sadness, grief, and emptiness always.
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Time has never been a luxury to this mere poet, but it has always been filled with the enlightenment of musical rhythms that tease and enchant this poet through the years, never leaving sorrow along paths of a lonely life.

Having only one love in this life, one that includes music and its rhythms, never ever walking away from its perfect essence while walking throughout avenues of a life spent in writing poetry and listening to music at the same time.
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Suddenly rhythms are popping throughout the night, exciting people's senses, trying to bring about sensations that will be emptied in many sentences or meanings.

Hoping to be a firecracker in the midst of a crowd of musicians as they rant and rave in depths of emotional measures of music as rhythms are being the light of this mere poet's life.
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People settle down at times, not wanting to do anything or go anywhere, just wanting to stay home day in and day out in years of love that never really mattered at all.

They couldn't be bothered with that mushy stuff; this poet always turned from it, not being able to believe in love, for to this mere poet it doesn't nor has it ever lived in this poet's world.
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Salsa playing on the other side of the Italian Club, everyone dancing and having a great time.

Energy going through the roof, people having fun, smiling and laughing while never missing a step upon the dance floor.
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Listening to voices as they sing intensely into the microphone, getting people to open up and sing with them.

Often taking time to move into the karaoke circles of music and its rhythms, finding an exhilaration in its midst.
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Staccato rhythms letting loose an interior freedom being felt inside, not waiting to let it die down, needing to move right into a meeting of minds as voices come together, wanting the same thing, going for it fully in this very moment.

An enlightening feeling of discovery as rhythms continue bringing the beauty and wonder being built up in tracks of happiness and joy, a sense of approval being celebrated.
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