RoseAnn V. Shawiak Poems

Laughter stirs mirth within my heart, tickling my fantasies and giving me a lift spiritually.
Combining many memories with images in visions of beautiful, picturesque thoughts written down for posterity and given meaning throughout future generations.
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Settling into a soothing frame of mind, respecting with dignity, inner workings of my soul.

Serene, quiet, contemplative, seeking only that which comes to
me in respite - dreaming.
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Building inner strength just a little at a time,
yielding to a power higher than myself.
Wandering, not aimlessly, with my life,
letting God take over my hours of today,
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Wind caressing my body, heightening my sensitivity to feelings and nature around me whether or not I can see them.
Feeling intimately, so all alone, a journey has ended in my open soul.
For God is the only joy that can be found in me today.
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Slowly moving, feeling tears form and leak within, not wanting to touch my heart for themselves.
Reliving yesterday, watching it recreate itself again on soft covered boring days, not knowing where to form itself again in the future.
Silently, quietly, adjusting every aspect to fit what never will fit in any alcove of life again.
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Guessing rhymes hidden in notes and beats, awaiting formulas to set them in.
Taken consecutively, they are belabored into poetry and left on window sills to be seen when ready and not until then.
Taking care not to rock the boat, yet keep rocking anyway and sailing into the sunset waylaid by the very frailty of the situation.
Slapping against minds with rhythm as it delicately senses the end.
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Rattling through a myriad of sorrows, trying to pull them apart and sort them into piles so as not to have to deal with them again.
Sorry about all sorts of things, giving many excuses, yet never hitting on any right one's to deliver in any type of consequence.
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Days go by, melting into melodies of past love, no longer shining for us anymore.
As star dust sprinkles down upon us, we search and move away from strangers in the dark, afraid to meet them, because of all the borrowed time spent - wasting time and never realizing that it is forever gone from us.
Love, if it is to be spent, must be held close to you, as you travel past highways alone.
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Collections of all things, illuminating the darkness are a valued possession in this time of injurious calamities.
Forcing the individual to accost many shadows, hiding in the vast sphere of tomorrow's excess, once they were extra pictures moving curtains.
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Pictures forming in interior albums,
held closely to hearts of blue sadness,
wanting only to carry on after loved ones die
and never have to face another day without them.
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