RoseAnn V. Shawiak
Liveliness has died inside, instead, folded banners
lie haphazardly spread around in piles.
Where are the things I want to see? Lost, forgotten,
locked in steel boxes, deeply hidden.
Painful windows opened to the past, airing out memories
which do not quickly pass.
Folded hands, prayer-like, not uttering a word, fear-
lined stillness held in terror.
Where are the sounds of yesterday? Why do they remain
Life penetrated solemn trust, not knowing what it's
Falling fast, sinking below the mark of life, hurriedly
attempting to grasp some meaning.
Instead liveliness lies dying.
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