RoseAnn V. Shawiak Poems

An aging mesquite tree, head full of branches and leaves
being blown about, dancing in an evening wind, looking so
graceful and lithe.
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Waltzing into the gala rhythms of inspirational imagination,
tossing cares to the wind in anticipation of a brighter to-
morrow.
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Expressions of silence can't always be read by others,
many times mistaking it for depression or despair when
in reality it's sorrow, sadness or inner contemplation.
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Looking from inner windows, realizing life is racing past and not caring.
Sacrificing daily increments of sanity to sit and write.
Forever searching endless pathways of the mind, locating words and new ways to line them into expressions of feelings and ideas.
Thrill of actually feeling new thoughts creates within me an obsession to keep on writing.
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Silently aware of an inner domain, weakening strength, empty
stare.

Vanquishing myriads of tell-tale images backed upon shores of
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High upon a rock, jutting out over the water, breezes blow gently across my face and arms.
Water is rapidly rushing, racing over and around the many rocks in it's path.
Branches swaying, leaves moving, nature waving good-bye.
Looking down atop the water, nothing can be seen but muddy water - little twigs are swirlingly doing the ballet.
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Memories mindful of the wakeful sun shining through the leaves of trees.
Tracing destinations from branch to branch, undecided as to it's hemisphere.
Wind walking on tiptoe through the trees, finding pathways strayed from reason.
Following dimensions of yesteryear, life begins fragrantly blossoming new ideas.
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Here I am, hidden deep within myself, afraid to come out, for I may be hurt by someone's unkind words or thoughtless actions.
Bound by limitations set by others, not knowing yet, my full potential.
Reach out and in to me, help understanding come about for me.
All my knowledge does me no good if I don't know yet, who I am, or where I'm headed.
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Taking care of one another as we all grow toward an eternal
maturity is the essence of all life.
To make it through our existences we must be willing to help
one another, no matter the cost or sacrifice because we are
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Skyscrapers remind me of a morgue.
They are the gravestones of the city.
Once there was a desert - barren and beautiful - full of life and fun.
Ordinary people with money, looking for ways to spend it foolishly came along.
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