RoseAnn V. Shawiak Poems

Gardens of irresponsibility crop up in those around us who don't perform their jobs like they're supposed to.
Preferring instead, to goof off and not live up to their own expectations in life.
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Daylight has disappeared into evening and streetlights have come on to light our way.
Missing the sun as it spread it's bright countenance over earth, touching my skin with a warmth and some vitamin D.
Loving the way it shined on parts of things that it could touch, leaving the rest in shadows, hiding away from everyone's eyes.
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Finding that I am lost in a wilderness unfamiliar to me.
Twisting and turning, searching for a way back to past reality where I felt at home - at least for a while.
Wanting to come back fully, yet knowing that some part of me is now missing and lost in a wilderness unfamiliar to me.
Writing from where I am now, hoping to exist in the present without being fearful of the unknown.
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Walking into the darkness, a quiet silence hovering over, seeking out attention to details surrounding me.
Echoes of whispering stillness spread about, covering all parts and corners of insistent wariness.
Charging into the shadows, knowing there's only one way out and not realizing where in the ebony blackness the exit is at.
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Crossing my mind, searching perpendicular patterns and designs being placed juxtapositionally in arrangements of literal compositions.
Wanting to rearrange them, touching each particle with hands of my mind and placing them in perfect orders of timely moments, reserved for future ideals and placed always in my soul, forever etched in the interior of it's mind.
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Shaking notes, falling into rhythms, bringing melodic beauty to photographic pictures of thought.
Total recall slowly has returned and once again I can write from it's total essence in peaceful joy.
Beating rhythms, holding my mind in anticipation of poetry beginning to form within and being written at the nib of this pen on paper.
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Being reminded daily of how precious little time we have to live our lives here on earth.
Not wanting to waste any moment at hand, always reaching for every opportunity that I can locate.
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Racking thoughts like cue balls and hitting them into pockets of wisdom, catching them on particles of nature.
Combining and creating a diverse game of literate prose to play with on boring days.
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Looking around a sterile waiting room for some sign of human touches.
Only thing is a few magazines on a glass table.
No pictures hanging on the walls, no colorful hues painted anywhere - all is dark - nondescript.
Yet, the doctor is intelligent, creative, wonderful, a joy in all respects and a gentleman besides.
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Careening down pathways of musical ability, enjoying it's freedom as I soar into melodies of the soul.
Grasping edges of rhythms, I feel and play to my heart's content.
Satisfied with an innate energy, keeping me swaying with agility and grace on every horizon.
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