I asked, Love may blight your life, cause the light to fade, and the days to darken. A moment’s joy, a lifetime of pain. Why do you stay where only sorrows reside? He replied, Because I love.
Sylvia Plath, whose tragic story I talked about in another post, wrote quite a few poems. I happened to find one of these, Lady Lazarus, read by her. The power and strength in her voice, combined with the awe-inspiring words make this a great listen. (Courtesy of http://www.youtube.com/user/mishima1970)
Ted Hughes, one of the greatest poets of the twentieth century, has finally revealed the extent of the misery he went through after the suicide of his wife Sylvia Plath. His voice may come from beyond the grave, but it has a depth and intensity that strikes the deepest chords. “What happened that night, inside your hours Is as unknown as if it never happened. What accumulation of…
On wings of dappled pink and fawn, My longing pines in the shadows. To emerge, When the air is heavy With the scent of your yearning.
When I think of perfection, I think about your smile; When I think of a destination, I think about your arms; When I think of peace, I think about your words; When I think of you, I think about heaven.
Observing him for the first time since he brought her home, she noticed his bright eyes changed from green to grey and then, a mystifyingly maddening blue. She smiled as he handed her the swirling ochre drink. His room, illuminated by flickering candles positioned carefully around it, was furnished sparingly. “Lonely,” she mused; smiling into the alluring spectrum of his eyes as he shyly gazed…
To youMy writing has no import,My reading no class.You make all my wordsSeem like carcasses of thoughts,My thoughts Irrational whims.Nothing I do or sayIs enough to win your respect,You would have me love you,You tell me you love me too.Your apathy to my desiresSometimes makes me wonder,Do you love me,Or the way I love you?