Soul Of Infinity Poem by RoseAnn V. Shawiak

Moon burning, palest light above the earth, shining between
the branches of a tree, shedding memories with it's sight.

Contemplating specific qualities of nighttime, pacifying
inner turmoil with it's calm and serene demeanor.

Spreading itself amongst thoughts in my mind like cream
cheese on a bagel, giving to me a split-second moment of
truth.

Death is better prepared for, essentially longed for and
nurtured constantly by the hell we call life.

Stature of becoming has no qualifications, we come and go,
without any instructions.

Always needing someone else to validate us, or being here
does not work, as one person after another turns their back
and walks away.

Hurting once again, a fragile gentle soul of infirmity,
on it's quest for fulfillment.

Filled instead with doubts and insecurity, lost, dead
amongst the living of the land.