When I year(n),
It quickly comes to pass, like a novel,
Constantly edited; I’m just smart enough
To realize I’m/It’s nothing new.

So, while I haven’t learned much,
I’ve learned plent(ious), as patterned
Visions constantly rearrange in the air above me,
Changing nothing as I am.

While I Lear(n),
I quickly cringe away, never a novel!
Never again! Constantly diverted excluded
From truth, as it is.

Then, when I started to yearn, we were dead!
Like a novel of self-sufferance! I guess
Paradise is lost. Sometimes it seems my heart,
Rebeating, starts its own year,

Over and over.
Twice as fast and tangible
As any unforgiving fear,
As I year(n). For a Gold Year.

Erin Elizabeth Kelly-Moen
© Copyright 1/8/13