Rhythms Have Been Strung Poem by RoseAnn V. Shawiak

Walking into the darkness of death alone, unable to see
the light of day any longer, finding rhythms of life have
been strung in beads of a funeral march without our love.

No longer participating in it beyond life, standing apart,
unable to see or love one another, stripped of everything
we knew and loved about each other.

Now existing far apart, having no knowledge where we both
have gone, because of death's insistence in our lives to-
night.