RoseAnn V. Shawiak
Listening to songs of yesterday being played live,
right before me in technicolor.
Pleasurable melody playing softly within my mind,
brightening dark corners and abysses with their
light touches reaching out, bringing lilting
senses to the forefront.
Forward sounding chords being shaped and formed
as I write their existences into bright patterns
befitting grief's recovery and aligning rhetoric
into layers of etudes.
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Comments about this poem (Grief's Recovery by RoseAnn V. Shawiak )
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
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Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
William Ernest Henley
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