The Keen
by Erin Elizabeth Kelly-Moen — Read all 1,670 poems by Erin Elizabeth Kelly-Moen
Sunday, March 5, 2006
The Keen. I know it well.
It spewed from my lips,
Beyond control, when 9-11
Became the Hell of Now.
The Keen, so primitive, seems
To deem such sorrowed depth, it is too
Heart-felt to be written by eyes
Or filigreed words or lies of
Present-Past.
The Keen, which clings to center,
The ‘Big Bang’ conquest of concepts Eater,
Shrills, beyond my surrogate means.
The Keen, from which I suffer,
Is sliced, like nether matter,
And kills rumors of which I’m unclear.
The Keen, the Crime, the Way.
The anti-climatic
Lived experience of keening
Is Age.
Erin Elizabeth Kelly-Moen
© Copyright 3/4/06
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I keen regularly each day for the moments that I lose and the parallel lives that I miss out on with each hasty decision. I think your last line is the truth of age. Age is despair for the dead.
Peace,
B
Keening helps; I know. Done a lot of it, not as much as I should...excellent, thought provoking write. Well done!
(((HUGS))) and love, Karla.
keen. . ." NOT meant as a joke. Life jumps from one precipice to
the next. N o i s i l y. But you know what? Keening helps! Another
plus I see in your case is talent. Add sensitivity. . .experience. . .passion. . .intelligence. . .only begins to describe. Love the like "...kills rumors of which I'm
unclear." Among others. I hear you. So do countless others, I am sure. Keen ON~!! Love Always. . .and Then, 'Pea' <3
It's only conquerable by those of us who are "blessed" or "cursed" with a vivid understanding of it's true meaning which is to destroy
us all. Excellent write. Pierre.