RoseAnn V. Shawiak Poems

Saddling up, riding away down dusty trails through the desert, staying off main roads for they're traveled way too often.

Preferring to ride alone into the sunset each and every night, thoughts building along the way, rejoicing in melodies as they're sung by others in the past.
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There's always something that one wants in life, but it seems the timing in never right, so walking away, feeling the intense
loneliness of life.

Never having an unconditional love, not able to face another day of disappointment, wanting, wishing, nothing comes from any of it for there's no miracle forthcoming in this world.
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Emotions, feelings being hung out to dry, being too sad and tortured by an unwanted love that has been left along the wayside.

No longer having the desire to fight for another's heart, soul never being touched by a love of genuine truth that someone
places in another.
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Hearts commanding one another in fields of love that grow everywhere, yet are not touching people because there's too much hatred and intolerance in today's world.

Steps of timid, self-examination continue to be ignored and people stand in the way of their own happiness and joy, afraid to speak out, not wanting to be pointed out to others.
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What once made us happy in life now brings only sadness and tears pulling at our hearts through grief and loss.

Special pains that bring back the memories of those we've loved in our lifetimes.
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A voice of feelings singing into the night alone, rain falling, taking hold of interior emotions in storms of yesterday.

Longing, desires, passion, all having been buried in beds of abuse and left in a grave.
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Classic yesterdays taunted by inner thoughts as they're spread within layers of promises that'll never be released or used in tunnels of what once was beautiful and special.

Now, all have disappeared, there's nothing left in the unique memories of yesterday that have now flown away into another vision dying away.
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Waltzing, stepping to rhythms as they appear in the middle of a song, leaving behind the peace of another time.

Wrinkles of life sometimes cannot be ironed out for it seems that an ineptitude is casting its spell onto the world.
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Pleasant rhythms playing alone, wondering where everyone has gone, no more humor or fun left behind.

Looking around, hoping that a wonderful vision will escape into the mind of a poet.
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Sirens of sadness turning into a portrait of misadventure and solemn thoughts of an empty and forlorn mood of sorrow.

Standing in a cell of solitude not knowing how to escape its heavy, lonely, feeling strangling this heart in a fantasy.
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