Feverish Deliverance Poem by RoseAnn V. Shawiak

Pointed aspirations circling inner spaces of intelligence,
gently pushing away the variance of fear held within.

Totally lacking in aspects of feverish deliverance, casting
out in all directions for signs of assurance.

Nothing ever comes to lighten the path of lonely darkness
as it begins and ends in me.

Without the gratuity of life, all is void, there is nothing
to hope in.

Whenever the lonely kicks up, frustration sets in, helping
to let go of everything.

Finding that all is empty, life has been poured out, washing
over the ends of earth, rippling into the ocean of death.