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Contributed by Silviaplath on Wednesday, 28th January 2004 @ 05:06:12 PM in AEST
Topic: EmotionalPoetry

I’ve seen men
who can’t bear to walk a mile across town,
nor bear to depart a night’s train.
I have seen men barred to their house of birth,
in which they choose as their sole refuge of confinement.
Their bodies disintegrate within the working soils
and do much good for the land,
but nothing for themselves.
They have never once attained the courage
to venture out upon midnight’s bell
and seek the beauty of the moon
upon those wallowing waters ahead.
They had engrained themselves within the boards they constructed
and had become not man,
but wood in its place.
If we cannot risk our own flesh and blood
to nourish another
and in return nourish ourselves,
what is there to this body—
which does the duty of housing
each noble dawn of beneficiary brilliance
and each mocking fear of life itself.
Each seed of embryonic potential they held
for but a minute’s time,
was just as swiftly relinquished from their faint clasp.
If we can not support these sources of budding prospect
from the inner-caving of our breast,
we do not have the urge to live amongst this land.
And all the beauty we have curtained from our eyes,
May remain curtained from our soul.

Copyright Â© Silviaplath ... [ 2004-01-28 17:06:12]
(Date/Time posted on site)

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