There is such a simple math
when it comes to Sylvia Plath
to this undying Confessional fad

for in order to finally add
one must first subtract
leave all balance left in tact

hence one must choose
to be prepared to then lose
before at last you dare take

that final line break

It is always such a celebration
in every single new adaptation
that I then pen upon the page
some new epic for a new age

While I while away my time
chasing a life of pure rhyme
never staying within these lines
plot and scheme my own designs

Just another creature of the night
ever indentured to the write
bound up in the poems I pen
forever returning once again

Capturing every single word
jotting it down before it is heard
weaving it into my canvas
before the moment can pass

Until all of my ink runs dry
when I then await another try
in the hope that might find
all these dreams I left behind

It could not be any clearer
how I must now deceive the mirror
assume another tragic role
even if it must then take its toll

For I have crawled many miles
painted on so many smiles
just to get where I am
using words I dare enjamb

Wanting to only just reveal
a hint at all that I do feel
all that I do still now know
within a perfect poetic flow

Ignoring all of those voices
offering such trivial choices
tried to convince me to stay
on a different path, a different way

While I take this empty stage
prepare to turn another page
even though this ink is not dry

ever certain of how I must try

Is there really much left to say
about a contrast in grey
with so many different shades
sharpening all of these blades

Penning here line by line
in search of some sign
an omen to be read
or perhaps ignored instead

For it leaves me unimpressed
by each confession confessed
every lie I ever told
exaggerations now resold

As I hope for any clue
about why the sky is blue
why the days diminish
before I have a chance to finish

When my thoughts are contiguous
in a world forever so ambiguous
never making thing clear
now that the last lines is here

How do I then transpire
walking out after the fire
after everything has burned
along with everything I learned

No longer needing to be rash
leave these footprints in the ash
a trail for me to now follow
with all of this pride I swallow

As I seek out what will last
fusing future, present and past
into a single moment to claim
finally free of any lingering blame

Climbing this final lonely hill
in the hope to somehow spill
words to capture all that I feel
the rapture of all that I reveal

Able to full immerse in ink
balance how I feel and think
I reflect upon that initial spark

how it illuminated all the dark

I want to feel each sweet word
the tickle when it is heard
the sting when it then fades
a cut from far too many blades

Or so it does always seem
when I dare to care to dream
let my thoughts just scatter
write as though it does matter

What I once more now say
play the roles in this sad play
that I penned for my very self
old stale poetry from the shelf

This lone anthem from my life
dipped in both joy and strife
meant for me to again feel
how each moment was real

Spilt in a fluorescent ink
yet disappearing in a blink
feeling this true poetajazz
all the magic that it still has

Tell me what hides here inside
a truer verity still denied
all these feelings and thoughts
well beyond mere shoulds and oughts

For I am always on this quest
facing every challenge and test
to dig down deep within
to find every virtue and sin

Lay them all out in a row
so that I might come to know
what I am now meant to learn
what salvation I might then earn

This stigmata of spilt ink
proof I am on the brink
of revealing all that I dare
within each poem I do share

As I again take on the night
fully prepared to recite
embrace this blatant patency
manifesting all of this latency