Galloping through measures of altitude, climbing <br />mountains with the accuracy of a delicate <br />instrument. <br /> <br />Holding onto the foot and handholds of acquiescent <br />solitude, looking down canyons and ravines at the <br />beauty being kept and hidden secretly within <br />depths of picturesque scenery. <br /> <br />Never being taken out to look at, just keeping it <br />where only I can see and express it into many <br />volumes of poetry. <br /> <br />Never minding the wind-torn gusts always tearing, <br />ripping the pictures unduly from their places on <br />walls where they've been hung for centuries, never <br />staking their claims on earth, even though they <br />have every right to do so. <br /> <br />Wandering lengths of outlasting rhythms, finding so <br />many interesting manifestations situated in the <br />middle of my soul's inner deserts. <br /> <br />Unholily recognizing priceless worth of what I'm <br />writing in such wonder and awe without giving in one <br />iota. <br /> <br />Incessantly continuing without stopping or pausing <br />for even a moment in time. <br /> <br />Realizing that existence is over in just moments of <br />time as they end suddenly in a song of rhythm.<br /><br />RoseAnn V. Shawiak<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/wandering-lengths-of-rhythm/
