The loss of laughter didn’t bother me,
The placement of face is faced by its place.
The murder of the world did bother me,
The pace to discredit others pools’ race.

The floss of countenance coarse-smothers will,
The vase of flower-smiles disintegrates.
The smell of attar twines with daffodils,
The act of dying resides into fate.

The gloss of sorrow ever covers me,
The faced emotions faked, nothing to be.
The truth of mind doesn’t always agree,
The thrust of life leaves construe d debris.

The loss of mother really bothers me.
Soon, there will be no mirror to my face.

Erin Elizabeth Kelly-Moen
© Copyright 3/12/06


I seem to have no control over 'ed' words at the end of my recent sonnets. They come out ... e(space)d. I am sorry for this distraction from the whole of the read.

Erin Elizabeth Kelly-Moen