RoseAnn V. Shawiak Poems

Pulling apart shards of a mirrored reflection, piercing my piece of mind, causing memories to leak out and affect me again.
No reprieve in sight, life stands still while a photographic movie plays itself repeatedly, making sure I didn't miss a single word inflection, expression or emotion.
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Popping up and down to rhythmic beats of exasperation, riding an emotional roller coaster through life, experiencing what most people can never even think or derive.
So-called serenity stands waiting, hoping to expend itself in interior intellect for times of intense grief and sadness.
Feeling empty, never being filled up, except by abandonment, pulling at life cords of reality.
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Stillness of purity sets itself before me in an attempt to wake me from a reverie of thoughtful memories.
Insipidly focusing only on what I'm thinking in pictures of musical notes, delving deeply into rhythmic beats of unanticipated melodies.
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Being entwined, twirling into atmosphere's of elated prose.
Beginning motions trailing in and out of fathoms of undetectable journeys as they're taken on sidelines of fantasy.
Contemptuous living, having elements akin to rhythmic essences, taking always, the best of everything life has to offer, and given freely, just because it is available.
Sincerely hoping for an eternal rest some day.
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Rhythmic beats flowing from an excellent band, playing volumes of rock, sending us on nostalgic journeys through good old memories.
Youngsters coming out, dancing to the music of uplifting candor, tiny tots flowing into the rhythms of yesterday, piloting intense steps in time with every beat.
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Turning inside out, watching everything fall out before me on the ground.
Seeing exceptional aspects, folding themselves into particles of intelligent wisdom as they grow into vagrant lots of imagination.
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Strangling in a repertoire of noise not recognizing the tones as music because they have to be designed and fit into circles of diamonds to be displayed in musical scores of diamond notes for a more pleasing sound from heaven.
Kicking slowly and keeping track of waylaid plans, following behind carefully, not upsetting the scheme of things.
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There's no certain person or place to help you reach your peaceful realm within.
There is only fractions of exciting adventures awaiting us as we move forward into catacombs of future religious experiences.
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Watching in twilight evenings for a recommendation of sanity, belittling every function of imaginative intelligence with a depraved sense of emotional turmoil.
Signifying invisible portions of deathly indiscretions left from
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Stepping gayly in rhythm, I move with an agility of bereavement, taking a stand against the sadness trying to set itself up inside my heart of crystal teardrops.
Wanting to sob and cry, I refuse, swallowing every morsel I keep myself strong in the face of humanity.
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