She shadows her self-esteem,
it’s normal, not much there, you see,
genetics and environment make
strange mixtures,
but we all know that,
we know too much, anymore.
Back in innocence, there were
still mistakes to be made, dreams
to imagine, moons to travel to,
sights to hang a life upon,
no more, it seems. She
contradicts her unfounded needs,
revels in her selfish esteem,
at times, perhaps, more than what’s normal,
she deems her thinking important,
but, to what end? How does it matter,
really, when dust turns to earth.
And paper turns to dust.
To what end? Shortness of flesh
precludes knowledge of eternity.
Passion dwindles, or dies, painfully,
as mortality knowingly screams,
because, in the end,
what does it matter?
Shadows dance to twisted extremes,
without innocence,
as she searches for the means
to validate her Life’s routines…
but, to what end,
and how does it matter?

Erin Elizabeth Kelly-Moen
6/2/03 Copyright 2003 ©