Life is at a standstill, deficient, unable to handle
daily routines with any energy whatsoever.
Racking emotions with heart-rending dissatisfaction,
causing spiritual draining of my being.
Unaccosted, afraid, yet looking for solitary openings
to become myself without the horrendous pain.
Sanctioning undeveloped patterns, watching them wander
aimlessly until I pick them up.
Placing their forms within imagination's storehouse to
be used on some other plain of literature.
RoseAnn V. Shawiak
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/standstill-7/
