RoseAnn V. Shawiak İsolation Poems

Living in isolation at times creates great genius in
different areas because of self-realization and an
investigation of who a person is and what they do in
their lives.
...

Howling like the wind, isolation of abandonment
stirs within me.
Taking away my livelihood and essence, leaving
me in an ocean of loneliness too large to exit
...

Walking along to songs of love and loss, tears being stranded,
choked within this heart, alone and unpretentious, rising feel-
ings flowing into lava-like emotions.
...

Along the way, losing myself in a quagmire of isolation,
not bothering to turn around, just keep walking into
unknown depths, no one there to talk with.
...

Curving around the isolation of my being,
gives me an idea to say how I feel in writing.
Taking extra time to become what I need to be
as I fall asleep in the interim.
...

Reaching for understanding deep within myself, never finding the answers I search for.
Climate changing interiorly, fixating the stress that comes upon me by association with other people.
Resisting other's chilly personas, giving them an indifferent
...

Traveling throughout lifetimes of memories,
keeping them close, holding onto them for
moments of isolation in an aging mind.
...

Energizing every fiber of my being as I listen to rhythms
of various melodies.

Standing firm as life hits me from all sides, nothing to
...

Tender melodies causing tears to fall like dew drops
onto the morning grass.

Watching them with saddened eyes, wondering how in the
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Stretching tones throughout intellect, letting them soothe
this soul as they roll around my mind, endlessly.

Listening to guitars strumming depths of my heart in it's
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Resisting temptations to join in with other people around me.
Not wanting my own space and needs to be overcome by theirs.
An insulated blanket, covering and protecting me from the insensitive challenges they throw over me.
Tossing aside everything, I delve into the pool of my mind, ignoring their every effort to get my attention by going ever deeper into catacombs of contemplation.
...

Stories always seem to end in loss, walking through
empty houses, looking out and seeing nothing, no
future, no love, no one there for us anymore.
...