Death becomes art

Sylvia Plath - inspired by her life and death.

There, on a sill of contentious decisions,

glass shards sit waiting a wavering hand

Reflective the memories wrapped ‘round the curtains,

lost in a pane that she can’t understand

 

Chilled calls the breeze through a jagged eviction,

scenting the air neath a ceiling now stained

Dampening dreams behind oven doors gaping,

finding the pilot light has not complained

 

Ripping out pages of scribbled delusions,

day becomes night in the depths of her mind

Chasing the echoes when no one will answer,

begging each shadow for something to find

  

Setting a table of rounded persuasions,

watching fluorescents fade fast in her eyes

Turning the knob towards a sorrowed direction,

why is there none who react to her cries

 

Loneliness peels back the layered condition,

voices of reason have fled to her past

Fearing the worst will come visit tomorrow,

sensing the hour shall now be her last

 

So many days and the roses need pruning,

nary a movement is noticed inside

Caught in his thoughts that her words had intentions,

if only those moments ignored would confide

 

Desperate ink found in fingertip writings,

penned by the demons left roaming her head

Still haunts the question of fear never listened,

death becomes art in the stanzas unread

Author's Note

Thank you for reading

Reviews

[Chris Shaw]

Wonderfully penned will. Sylvia a troubled and tragic figure. Maybe if she had survived, her poetry might not have done so to the extent it has. I wonder how she would have fared if she had not met Ted?

[willweb]

I know what you mean. Would we have even heard of her if her life had been normal? Thanks for visiting my work again my friend.

[Chris Shaw]

Always welcome.

[Tania Mo]

She had a poem in my literature syllabus. I like this one so much because it's sad lessens.

[willweb]

Thank you so much Tania. I am glad you liked it.

[Linda Marie Van Tassell]

I really struggled when I discovered that my father had committed suicide. I had spent my whole life thinking that he died in Vietnam and was a hero for our country. To discover otherwise just shattered my soul into a million pieces. Everything that I thought I knew was a lie. "Thou shalt not commit murder" really haunted me, since suicide is the murder of self. I struggled with that thinking that my father was committed to spend an eternity in hell. After four years of dealing with cycles of depression, I finally realized that my father was not well. He was 23 years old. To be a father of two young girls, to catch his wife having an affair with his best friend, and to have lost his job would be more than enough for any man to handle. At 23 though, I just can't imagine. Few of us are equipped to deal with those demons at that age. So, for me, I found solace in knowing that God knew my father's heart better than anyone. It's easy for one to judge when viewing things from the outside, but only God knows everything. To say that I have a bit of understanding of Sylvia would be an understatement. She battled with depression from a very young age. Her husband was unfaithful, and she had two young children. Ted literally left her destitute. Truly, it's a miracle that she lived as long as she did, probably because she had poetry. Even poetry can't save us all. The cycle of suicide continued when her son, Nicholas, committed suicide as well. Now, her daughter, Frieda is not only an artist and a poet; but she is a grief counselor as well. Lord knows she had enough experience with grief! I know that I have. Sylvia was a sensitive soul, and your poem is a lovely homage to her.

[willweb]

You have had to deal with a lot it seems but one thing that stands out for me in your review is the line about judging a person and that only God knows the true heart. I once wrote song titled, "Will you promise not to judge me" It is a long story but it basically said that God is the only one who can judge us. It was written for a reason and though it was not suicide, it was deeply personal and filled me with grief. Thank you Linda for reviewing my poem and for allowing a bit of a glimpse into your world. I hope it was not too painful to read.

[Linda Marie Van Tassell]

Not at all. I've overcome a lot. It doesn't hurt to talk about it anymore. :)

[MomzillaNC]

Wow.

Just… wow!

This is breathtakingly tragic.

[willweb]

I am humbled by this. Thank you so much.

[MomzillaNC]

You're very welcome. It really is exceptional in sentiment and delivery.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

she wrote, "dying is an art, like everything else. I do it exceptionally well."
j.

[willweb]

Thanks so much Jacob