Aug 2013
Many evenings, the curtains drawn,
you slept restless
as a new-born accepting
their life and the world.
Quilted in night
but come morning
you'd rise again,
write the branches of your tree.
Black upon a fresh page,
every word still in the breeze
long after your roots
were destroyed.
you slept restless
as a new-born accepting
their life and the world.
Quilted in night
but come morning
you'd rise again,
write the branches of your tree.
Black upon a fresh page,
every word still in the breeze
long after your roots
were destroyed.
Written: August 2013.
Explanation: A poem written in my own time and a possible contender to be part of my third year of university dissertation which will be about Ted Hughes and Sylvia Plath. Likely to be altered in the near future.
Explanation: A poem written in my own time and a possible contender to be part of my third year of university dissertation which will be about Ted Hughes and Sylvia Plath. Likely to be altered in the near future.
(31/M/Northamptonshire, England)
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