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Sylvia Plath (1957) - October 27, 1932 - February 11, 1963

On the 79th Anniversary of the Birth of Sylvia Plath


You could have lived you know You would have been only 79 today You could have continued to grow We would still cry, illuminated away by your verses and your gaze But alas, that was not to be your destiny Our metropolis is a grave of the phrase Our time is dead hands working dead stringency Your age, had you achieved it Would have been a sexy prime Look at you, on that photo, doesnt it fit? Instead of keeping you, into our time We gave you to the White mist At the tender age of 30, so short, it explodes Like the image of your perfect lips Or the knives of your words, antipodes

Of power and playfulness Destruction and redemption You are the retribution of mans maleness And the guilt of male assumption Before we all fell like Icarus From the sky, the sky you soared It is your voice we heard, give us then a truce Give us a few spaces in your sky, or a sword To fall on and feel your pain Your beauty and your effervescence If you had only lived till today, your age would be the color of gold Like your voice rendered in your words of rage Like your poetry, straight from a heart so bold. October 27, 2011 Konrad Tademar

The Grave of Sylvia Plath Hughes "Even amidst fierce flames the golden lotus can be planted."

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