Life's Livingroom Poem by RoseAnn V. Shawiak

Bits and pieces of being scattered throughout life's livingroom,
never able to be made whole.

Vacuumed daily and spit into vast storage spaces in a mind,
taking up inordinate amounts of time, while subconsciously
bringing forth images marring the view of life.

Taking into consideration all the minutes of a day, when
calculated, no one can say how long the mind has been occupied
or how far it's traveled.

Time limits are non-existent - having no bearing on anything.

Crawling around grey matter, setting off alarms, stirring
feelings, tears begin falling.

Being alive, being human, is a painful experience - why does
everyone continue to do it?