RoseAnn V. Shawiak Poems

Running into the arms of another, always hoping to be
accepted unconditionally, yet being young and immature,
disables our intuition about another because hormones
and emotions are flying high.
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Life circles itself and continues to fly unendingly into
future generations where hopefully, equations will be
found that tabulate echoes of many answers not yet found
in life.
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Considering rhythms stirring interiorly, blending with those of life and it's plentitude.
Sacrificing and being alone through everything, keeping sanity tucked hiddenly within, holding onto every aspect of suffering, for in it wisdom can always be found.
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Rotating along avenues of imagination, seeing entire aspects of thought as it wends itself into abstractions.
Waltzing itself toward meanings of poetical words, lining melodies to join in, creating a joyous journey of ideas.
Fulfilling desires within to make sense somehow of life and it's puzzles.
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Incessant music, blatantly touching fibers and particles, partaking in a manner of pleasant retributes of beauty.
Sounding reverberations soaring through bubbly hopes and dreams of never-ending bliss.
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Garbled answers attempting to make themselves heard through centuries of questions.
Rhetoric betraying past fissures in plates of armor, are now fastened to a picturesque nature, as life flows downhill forever towards oceans of life's lessons.
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Life is a precarious ledge that we hang from,
hoping to gain ground as we grow older.
It never happens and trials continue to abound,
shortening our holds on everyday life.
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Sheltering a child, being who she is as I climb through life, always uphill.
Occasionally sliding beneath it's muddy catastrophes where I often hope to finally die, without recourse.
Standing past death's shadow, yet reaching for it constantly.
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Scientifically researching every connotation, every inflection of superfluous statements.
Interceding quietly on rhetorical questions of fate.
Interested in formulas and equations placed in front of imagination's screen, portraying explicit items realizing clues always pointing futurely.
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Soundly listening to shores of beyond, focusing on their beauty and intensity as they lap upon my mind, ebbing and neaping, carrying me softly away in tides of remorseful grief.
Touching every fiber like a harp being played in a requiem mass, signifying a return to an after life.
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