RoseAnn V. Shawiak
Throwing hands of fate into pits of hell, terrifying
even the most strident sinners of earth.
Walking, beating rhythms of irreverent music,
striding down paths of religious fervor, getting
slowly altered down lanes of irretrievable purpose.
Faith and belief in it, turns souls around,
gravitating towards their main intention and facet
Along lines of beginning hope, feats of life are
imitated in daily rhymes of ingrown thought, floating
in melodic striae of brain waves.
RoseAnn V. Shawiak's Other Poems
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Comments about this poem (Ingrown Thought by RoseAnn V. Shawiak )
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
William Ernest Henley
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