RoseAnn V. Shawiak Poems

Reflections of shadows passing by unnoticed by anyone except this
mere poet, watching as patterns and designs change, intermingle,
separate and come back together.
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Numbers, what are they? Symbols of time that someone long ago
thought up, finding that they formed mathematically correct
phases of time, but not being.
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Tides of death are playing their rhythms quietly in this mind,
not wanting to disturb the fragile balance of thought between
living and dying.
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Changing, rearranging, standing still, yet moving forward and
backward through thoughts of memories that have lived within
our brains unobtrusively, deliberately and silently.
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Climbing over rocks in the forest, peeking around boulders,
wanting to see what's on the other side of them, just like
a child, probing, exciting senses within.
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Playing the artistic harp of life to interior melodies of joy
and beauty, listening to their natural rhythms while walking
through each of them nothing to stand in the way of our minds.
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Rhythms akin to feelings being felt within, touching our very
hearts with emotional outbursts of excitement and thrills,
taking parts of being and placing them in poems of ingenuity
and grace.
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Aging in body, but not in mind, it's still vibrant, energetic,
alert, awakened and focused, not a beat being missed while it
listens to melodies and harmonies of life, nature and humanity.
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Skating along inner pathways of being, traveling silently into
and out of passages of time and measures of chords that capture
and entangle this mind with enchanting rhythms.
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Enlightenment unfolding in moments of rhythmic music playing
effortlessly, touching the very depths of ingenuity and life-
centered rhythms.
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