Folds Of Death Poem by RoseAnn V. Shawiak

Reverting to habits of old, lightening quick, unwavering in
the folds of death.

Selecting a path of hidden quality, climbing towards a light
of blue, always beyond reach.

There are so many sanctimonious levels of certain individuals
who insist on castrating lives of happy, peaceful people.

Rupturing the very souls and minds of sensitive, creative
people, others who are ignorant of the call within.

Berating and chastising the deepest existence held within
their beings.

Dried, packaged, stored away, never to be seen again, because
of this, set adrift forever alone.

Waiting to turn life around and put meaning back into it.