She always knew she was lucky to be
Loved. Ungloved, though, her mind hated herself,
Berated, castigated; honoree
Of nothing but egotism, of self.

She tried to free being when young, unhung
Aspirations of becoming someone
In the struggle. Feloned life. She restrung
Adversity, like pearls shot from a gun,

Bulleted into someone else’s house,
Someone else’s life. Cruel dreams, unfulfilled,
Create themes of self-destruction… Hush, mouse,
It takes eternity to become – skilled.

Days fade into nights; she becomes sorrow.
Built to absorb sin, she weeps tomorrows.

Erin Elizabeth Kelly-Moen
© Copyright 2/12/05