Islands Of Life Poem by RoseAnn V. Shawiak

Building the mortar of incessant pleading, attempting to
bridle us with coats of other's choosing.

Wanting only the best, it is never found, for the islands
in life are separated from the living of it.

Stuccoed in between ages of heraldry and chaotic history,
placed in tombs of love, never broken open.

Never will the placards in halls of fame read other than
names spent in life, in death now alone.

Flowers of remorse grow along every highway, crosses marking
their tears of sorrow, falling into gardens of fate,
unsolicited by humans.

So carefully tending thoughts and lives of others, forgetting
their souls in puddles of disarray, learning only of impending
doses of immortal gloom.

Tall and strong, toppling to the grounds of hell, all of us
are humanly possible no longer.

Sojourn facility of creative undertakings has crept upon us,
leaving little reminders of the passing through of it's short
span of time.

Just when we are taken aback by the folly of our mistakes,
laughter fills the air and falls upon inanimate objects of
our minds.

Thoughts of undoing, rightfully being swept along sidewalks,
situating their moments, hanging loosely towards inner
platitudes of love and understanding.

Caring has no place in our society, we must walk away, wrecking
havoc in our wake.

Leaving behind all souls who trust in people, flowing down-
stream to a lake filled with troubled, stormy waters.

Yearning for the deep, murky black waters, closing overhead,
sealing out forever, the rest of life.