hanged

struck down by willingness,
he seeks repugnance of character, a butchering
to purge passions, a dream
to negate perception,

living behind/beyond the secure abode of knowledge,
inside the pool of not thoughtless but less thought of
notions.

invalid – but to be sure of submission –
the world takes a deep sigh
with every second bellied
by the man,
hanged.

Linking it up with Word Count at With Real Toads
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Sylvia Plath- her voice still echoes around…

Here is my tribute to Sylvia Plath; a villanelle-

her voice still echoes around

the lone bird, lost in the mirrors of time

faded, yet there with a fluttering sound

 

hear, take it in, let it be found

moaning in pain, narrating the crime

her voice still echoes around

 

her body decaying in the burial ground

she is gone, leaving behind her life’s dime

faded, yet there with a fluttering sound

 

the years she spent but being bound

a prisoner to her own mind’s rime

her voice still echoes around

 

leaving nothing behind her, no expound

just her work, her prayers, so sublime

faded, yet there with a fluttering sound

 

oh Sylvia Plath, you are indeed crowned

the queen, amid the humanity’s grime 

your voice still echoes around

faded, yet there with a fluttering sound