Oh, Sylvia — a poem about Sylvia Plath
a poem to my muse, forgive my inadequacy
From what little death
came your mind to brilliance, dark
that aimed to steal you
Oh, Sylvia why
when youth still bore your name, night
rested on your face
Your words became my
muse, genius veiled in darkness
gone only in breath.
Your brilliance lives on
encapsulated in poem
winged word spirits
My words are pale.
No words could properly express the awe I feel when reading Sylvia Plath’s poetry. Her mental illness was both a gift to her writing and a curse to her living. It is because of her that I fell in love with words. Below are a few links to poems that I have written that channel my “inner Plath” — or at least tried to do so. I wish that for just a few minutes I could speak to Sylvia Plath and ask her about her writing. What a gift she gave us all. Thank you, Sylvia.
Note: If you are suffering from depression — please seek help. People love you. Don’t believe the lies of the darkness. You do not have to be defined by your illness.