Pocket Of Aged Loss Poem by RoseAnn V. Shawiak

In the everlasting jowls of hell, life on earth is split
apart and thrown to all ends of the universe.
No quiet release from the pain which grasps so tightly,
no breath left to breathe within.
Sojournly treading pathways of irreversible doubts,
propriety amiss, floating somewhere on a sea of
blackened clouds.
Tepidly attempting to rearrange treasures of life in
pockets of aged loss, unable to grasp or capture their
meanings of old.
Placid stillness enveloping the quill of this inner mind,
segregating it from explosive postures of imagination.
Fighting on the forefront of discovery, alive and beating
incessantly on drums of strife.