RoseAnn V. Shawiak Poems

Fiddling, playing a violin in my imagination with preciseness and perfect pitch.
Allowing it's strident sounds to match the feelings of abandonment and loneliness, as my heart and soul cry silently within their tones and harmony.
Playing so no one else can hear, because I'm in the perfect space reserved for me alone.
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Rhyming chords, traveling up and down the keyboard of my mind distinguish objects in poetical episodes of explanation.
Giving them special significance in moments of truth as life dwindles in years to come.
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Unfamiliar surroundings crowding my mind, unfolding themselves to be explored in vibrant poetical words.
Whispering wisps of thoughts filling the atmosphere, blowing their touch to my mind in peaceful endeavors.
Likely aspects of reality are being opened and separated through an intellectual process known only through coded poems.
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Stretching vines like elastic bands across great spans of imagination, so as not to touch the ground.
Not wanting to leave footprints etched in unmolded brain matter.
Preferring to leave it like virgin soil in the nighttime air.
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Snowbound in the middle of the desert, imagining the cooling effect proliferating throughout my mind.
Softening the echoes in drifts of white powder, easing the stress as I roll it into balls and throw it away from me.
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Soothing nerves with musical rhythms, attempting to remain calm through the hell of medical reality.
Wading through waves of turmoil, choosing to ride them to shore, instead of fighting my way into and out of them.
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Comparable sensations are found
in places least expected of them.
Those that have been examined and
found to be delicate reminders of our youth.
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Sending messages of caring to young ones through poetry and taking time to play and talk to them.
It's amazing how they open up and blossom when someone pays attention to them.
A wonderful way to share their little joys through poetry.
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Stars shining darkly in an inner sky, showing their despair in a corner where they are visible to those who look.
Reminders to us all of the sadness in this tired old world of misplaced dreams and hopes.
No more mention of a future being planned to fulfill the remainder of life.
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An inner child, being held a captive in a grown-up's senior body.
Not allowed to run free, unrestrained, or untethered in her last years of life.
Keeping her in a tightened personality of emotional content, afraid to let go.
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