Eventual Dust Poem by RoseAnn V. Shawiak

Kicking pebbles down streets of fantasy, languishing in
peaceful adoration at everything I see along the way.

Prayerfully contemplating every facet of life and it's
particles of eventual dust.

Thinking bereavedly about events and funerals of the
past, reliving the sorrow in tears as they pour down my
face and from my heart.

Asking questions does no good, being angry just takes up
miserable space and makes me feel worse.

Nothing I can think of doing will ever help while alive,
death will eventually absorb my sorrow and place me in
heaven's realms tomorrow.