RoseAnn V. Shawiak Poems

Dreams disappear when you awaken, usually.
Otherwise, they follow you through daytime hours, causing you to ignore reality on your journeys through life.
Separating separate parts of thought is tricky and is considered a bit of a task, difficult at best when trying to concentrate on a concept or idea benefiting yourself, alone in a motion of regret on the road to life's adventure.
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Life is a banal creature, hurting and maiming us throughout it's span of time.
At times being tremendous, mainly though, raking us through the coals, not giving us a choice, surrounding us with grief day in and out.
Splintering and dropping us into heaps of trash to find our way out of.
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Sometimes I fall into a deep sense of suicide, not able to find my way out, drowning beneath watery emotions of abuse and hatred, culminating in fires of hell.
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Finally realizing that the end of life is always with us, waiting for us to recognize that fact and face it head on.
Imagining life without having to ever die, is frightening to an extent, I wouldn't want to live forever, it would be definitely boring to face the same old life every day for an eternity.
On the other hand, think of all the things you can learn and achieve.
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Sifting through many ideas, selecting thoughts closest to my heart.
Remembering with acute clarity, sensations of unusual feelings trying to disperse without tripping over any on the way to explaining what they are and how to expand them into many dimensions without losing any of them.
Signaling with topical senses to synapses of my brain, enticing them to spread messages forever into spaces mentioned primarily
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Thoughts raining down upon me, filling me with grief's sorrow.
Drenched in a lifetime with bluened crystal teardrops that are never-ending, yet always seem to be available when lonely.
An eerie emptiness settles inside, catching me with it's effervescent thoughts always in the foreground.
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Walking up a mountain, noticing rock formations,
cacti and other normal desert sites, tucking all
of their pictures into my mind, giving it wonderful
detail and imaginative styles of my own.
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Sojournly thinking, listening to classical violins playing my heartstrings to the tune of sorrowful remembrances.
Touching the hurt of a lifetime with their melancholy notes of bereavement, ebbing and flowing through tumultuous oceans of ever profound tears, salted with the loneliness of years.
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Many thoughtful visions appear, containing the essence of my younger days when life was good and easy.
Nothing ever mattered except a child's dreams when I had time to dream them between jobs and school.
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