He took his love to Sylvia,
They loved all day.
They didn’t want to do anything else.
So he went away.

I hated you a poem,
A poem like no other,
I hated you a poem,
Because you were my lover.

Why don’t you go down?
Life is not what it seems.
Life is bruitsh and overwhelms
And we just want to live in dreams.

Beauty looked her in the eye,
Beauty took her to its face,
Beauty is alien, really.
Beauty is its own race.

Pride prevented her from being whole,
She could not reveal how life betrayed her and what it stole.
Some cannot understand how getting what you want
Takes its toll.

If you are looking at this picture of Sylvia Plath,
Be happy, you are lucky—
Life cannot be so bad—
And if you happen to be ugly—laugh.

1 Comment

  1. Diane Roberts Powell said,

    August 6, 2013 at 4:16 pm


    We’ll always love our
    Yorkshire lad made good.
    The child died, although
    he did all he could.
    They were not one of us,
    nor would they do; a jerry
    Yank and an exotic Jew.

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