RoseAnn V. Shawiak Poems

Crossing thresholds of heaven, not wanting to come back to earth.
Still able to visit God's home, giving me the stamina to go on.
Needing to cross over more often, I pray that soon I'll have served my purpose on earth and can then go home.
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Standing in the pouring rain of loneliness, heart emptying and mixing with the puddles I'm stepping over.
Avoiding the obvious aspects known to me, I continue to elude all emotions, only seeing their existence here where I am writing, keeping them in an intellectual mode of thinking, so I don't have to deal with them right now.
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Wandering deserts of my interior spirit, giving way to contemplation as I continually walk in any direction I want.
Always feeling the intense presence of God, knowing He's with me, keeping me company through life's trials and suffering.
Holding my hand, comforting my spirit, giving me hope in His tomorrows.
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Edging deeper inside, memories hide to keep me from seeing them too often.
Knowing that they're the cause of interior pain that I don't want to feel.
Jostling time with imaginative concerns, as all lies in wait for another turn of events.
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Falling down into pools of sadness,
watching reflections of my life drowning in their depths.
Leaving me stranded in arid deserts of yesterday,
without any reserves to return to.
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Mirrors of my soul reflecting itself into heaven's clouds of hope.
Deciding to make the most of life here and now, through the music of flowing waterfalls of sound.
Splashing around in it's depths, washing away the cultivated dirt of human beings and taking aspirations beautifully into heaven's gardens.
Keeping pace with imagination and it's creative dreams, coming into their own on desert plains of poetical musing.
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Borrowing names of future celebrities, naming sons and daughters after them, hoping to have their children grow up to be famous.
Choosing paths before they're even born, trying to control every avenue and path of their child's future destiny.
Not realizing that God has already put them where He wants each individual at every given point in time.
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Passing fancies not coming close to me, preferring more permanent ideals.
Holding them in my heart, knowing they'll never depart, keeping me whole, enjoying past memories forever through writing.
Still finding the sensations and titillating extrasensory projections from within depths of my entire being.
Solving problems of every day matters without any interference from without.
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Dusty trails left behind after a rain storm, streaking down on windows of a library, staking no claims on anyone's memories, except mine as I write about them here.
Left overs from heaven's tears of sadness, over what we humans have done to earth and it's beautiful sustenance left to us by God in experiences of detailed poetical license.
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