RoseAnn V. Shawiak
Life - Poem by RoseAnn V. Shawiak
Life seems so long and tiring until death comes knocking, knocking
at your door.
It always seemed to be so far away before,
I used to get angry and say, 'I wish I were dead!
But then they were only words, spoken to slash out and hurt the
person who angered me.
Now suddenly it's a reality - there are no more words.
Death has come to get me, to take this long and tiring life from me.
Everything has taken on new light, this life of mine - it's not so bad.
I've had some really great times, seen some beautiful sights,
laughed a million times more than ever I cried.
Yes, life isn't so bad when I look back upon it.
But, lonely and crying softly, I look ahead and can see nothing,
feel nothing, but a dark empty sort of hopelessness lying heavily
upon this aging heart.
Life has gone too swiftly from me - if only I could steal it back.
Everything I've ever hoped or dreamed, everything I've ever
accomplished seems now was all in naught.
Exhausted from this mental anguish I fall back upon my pillow with
tears smarting in my eyes.
If only I had done more with my life, given more of myself, loved
my family more, are my thoughts as pain raced up and down my spine.
Racked with pain - mind and heart filled with sorrow, I yell - I
The nurse comes running and pricks me with a needle.
Medicine takes my last hold on life - it takes my pain away and
puts my mind in a daze.
Forms and people lose their shape and become distorted, I can hear
voices - people talking far, far away.
The pain is gone for a while, my senses dulled, my body limp with
sedatives and I fall asleep in another land, another time when I
Thinking life seems so long and tiring - when that little particle
of reality slips through the medication and says, until death comes
knocking, knocking, at your door.
Poet's Notes about The Poem
dying of kidney cancer. He was an amazing man and I loved him with
all my heart. My Uncle was an antique dealer, he would give me some
of his antiques, just because he loved me, value/money didn't matter if he wanted to give something to me, he did. We were inseparable, he was always joking and smoking cigars. Always smiling and laughing in
spite of the cancer and pain he went through. A typical Sicilian with
his hat and trench coat. I miss him very much.
Comments about Life by RoseAnn V. Shawiak
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