Painful perspiration stung the forehead
Of the prostitute opening her legs
To concentrated absorption of dead
Memories. Straining to recall, she begs

For relative past, a clue to heal her
Disembowelment. Her duality
Laughed, confident in its restraints, powered
By need to rape the misunderstood. She

Cried tears of blood, hated her heartbeat, and
Saw human futility in struggles
Against insanity. There’s no worse brand
Than whore, given to self... As fears mingle

With soul’s heat, she cannot close her legs. She
Awaits her fate, weeping, paying her fees.

Erin Elizabeth Kelly-Moen
© Copyright 7/4/05






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Reviewed by Susan Barton 7/6/2005

Wow!


Reviewed by robert Jude forese 7/5/2005

a most intriguing poem!


Reviewed by Karla Dorman, The StormSpinner 7/5/2005

Powerpacked emotions in these sonnet lines, Erin--very well done!

(((HUGS))) and love, Karla. :(


Reviewed by Peter Paton 7/5/2005

Perfect Love Casteth Out Fear !
There is always time to turn things around in life for the better Erin !
Very potent write
Peter