Untidy Sense Of Being Poem by RoseAnn V. Shawiak

Untidy Sense Of Being



Whispering sweet nothings, but no one hears them for
love has not visited yet, years have been lived alone,
nothing stopping to take a heart into throes of love.

Alone, saddened, yet going on, living, spending time
on the road of life, becoming a person only loneliness
can abide in.

An untidy sense of being, sitting on the sidelines,
wondering where love can be, because it has never
visited here yet.

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