RoseAnn V. Shawiak
Egghorns Of Death
Egghorns strewn along walks of eternity, tell-tale
signs of forage, sleekly caught in time.
Altogether, brilliant colors placed against the black
and gray of thought, quietly withdrawn, afraid of
reaching out or touching.
Sternly made to fill certain molds, cracked and broken
no longer able to hold the growth of dawn.
Allowing minute particles to pass, becoming tangled in
strips of need.
Focused, lightened, skyward with sideways glances,
grasping thoughts of death, silently portraying after-
There are no solutions, knowledge falls short of wisdom,
yet does death smile quietly within.
Patiently waiting for his perfect, untimely moment with
each of us.
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