Ticking of the clock fits right in with beats of rhythm
by RoseAnn V. Shawiak
falling down into labyrinths of interior mind-sets,
tabulating end results of life-sustaining moments.
Kicking dust down trails of effervescent footprints,
watching them float and flutter to steady beats of another
composition being written within this heart.
Slowly edging towards the rim of tomorrow's horizon, hoping
not to lose sight of meanings in this afterglow of another
life, holding onto the sides of a capsized boat.
Saving lives, never returning to the center of what used to
be eternal places of hope, springing ever forth from within
fountains that constantly spurt life-giving waters into
souls of those who listen and pray to a God who supports and
loves them no matter what the time of day or night.
Cascading stars falling from nighttime skies, letting loose
their star dust as it falls into the eyes of those who were
blinded by evils that have focused themselves unmercifully
onto humans that were the weakest links of mankind.
Women and children first falling to the incessant poverty
of souls who have lost their spirits of contemplation to
the worries of days spent in captivity, never attending to
duties of anyone's business.
A particular period of unrequited love, tasting bitterness
of lemony irony of another lifetime.
Silence falling constantly onto edges of a mind, nothing
ever coming close to mirrors of yesterday's love in times