Tunnels Of Perfection Poem by RoseAnn V. Shawiak

Living in tunnels of perfection, preferring independent
styles of everything.
Searching for finer rays that will fit just right into remainders of daylight.
Feeling loneliness settle in, cuddling like a kitten,
making itself at home in darkening corners of perfection.
Crossing over tunnels, entering them later on, wanting
to find errors in place so a ceramic face may be broken
with faults sometime.
No more a clay-hardened person, waiting to fall apart
at any given moment.