RoseAnn V. Shawiak Poems

Reaching into depths of self, finding spacious rooms of loneliness and grief.
Touching my heart and soul with a flood of emotions, rolling over me in a momentous situation of life.
Tangled in webs of emptiness, I let go and fall into the abyss of a lonely life, away from the world and universe.
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Sending magical beats into the atmosphere, staccatoing through the air, giving everyone something to listen to attentively.
Registering innately in an inner creative atmosphere, giving insight to something invisible to the eye.
Yet, we can hear every note being played in rhythmic rhymes.
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Wanting to investigate all options coming to mind, writing down everything I can think of.
Solemnly, arriving at ends of belief, wondering where to go from here.
Awaiting the beats of each measure so I can continue writing to my heart's content.
Serenity filling me with elation and helping me cope with what's in store for me.
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Difficulties abound in life yet we continue to move forward,
making our ways toward the end of our days.
A total commitment of human nature inherent in each one of
us on earth.
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Softly touching a spirit of being, calling me from depths of heaven.
Justifying the proliferation of writing through all the smoke screens. Standing in the way of future visions, giving me difficult patterns of existence and tossing over designs of tomorrow.
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Sun coming out from behind storm clouds, falling onto my body, keeping me warm with it's rays and feeding me plentiful amounts of vitamin D to boot.
Loving the attention it is paying me, I sit back, resting, enjoying it's essence and presence as I write.
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Wind blowing thoughts in my mind, furling and unfurling ideas,
tossing them around, looking for the words to express each
vision and image that beckons to me in stride.
Cautiously, placing items into an array, deciding exactly what
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Music playing reflections of my mind in rhythmic sounds, attuned to feelings felt inside.
Attitudes adjusting, trembling, crawling inside, terrorizing brain cells into submission, causing such anxiety that creative avenues walk off and find other environments in outer corners of another world.
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Traipsing down roadways, tapping out rhythms in times of musical domain.
Creating new versions of tonal qualities, composing extra beautiful compositions, sonnets, sonatas and epistles of historical rhythms.
Going too soon, into depths of sorrow's belongings, putting together pictures of another world, hiding inside the abandonment of life and it's heritage.
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Justifying ideas in frames of images, pulling them together in rivulets of visions, taken into avenues of subconscious memories. Stirring them and clearing all else from interfering with their poetical essences.
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