Dark Room Poem by RoseAnn V. Shawiak

The dark room lies waiting, it's emptiness is just like me
inside.

Foregoing pleasure for this roller coaster ride, waiting to
see where the end will be.

Sifting through activities of the day, finding nothing of
value, setting fire to memories of yesterday.

Smoke rises, filling the air, scouring windows of the future,
blinded with it's tears.

Standing, writing in a dark little room, it's emptiness is
just like me inside.

Blinded by tears of ages, parading past, leaving no traces
of history to be dealt with in later years of rest.

Tears of remorse fall, young lips praying, find no meaning
in faith or God, no one can be seen except through the
imagination of small people.

Taking lightly, all statements made in haste, refusing to
make any sudden moves, deftly falling into the deepest space
of inconsistent beings, consuming knowledge and spewing it
at each other.

Pretending never to have set eyes on distant musing, unfaith-
fully begetting reason to sleep upon silken pillows of
unrehearsed death.

Riding contemptuously along, grudging every ounce of strength
it must share along the way, falling silent, reaching out to
no one, keeping close, it's fears.

Surreptitiously slipping by unnoticed, sequels of a requiem
mass done some time ago.

Sandwiched between the light of day and it's evening dawn,
tripping hesitantly, almost falling into the snare of faith.

Dropping singly into puddles, our minds find contentment on
distant shores.

Sealing fate with the kiss of death, emptiness spreads out
and fills everything with it's darkness.

Secretly wishing for a new day to break, all the while knowing
that only souls who break in two can move forwards.

The dark room lies waiting, it's emptiness is just like me
inside.