Dedicated to Sylvia Plath in celebration of her birthday, October 27, 1932.
sylvia plath image lit, sylvia plath, and the bell jar image

Your masterpieces were in the hundreds,
       Metaphoric confessions evident in every line,
Metacognition, depression, morbidity to name a few.
       You’ve ignited multitudes with every flourish of your pen.
It isn’t fair that you are gone; gone with the wind.
       The deepest connections are made with inanimate things,
               Combusting internally and externally,
       The blaze of your fire never ceased to ignite.
Losing such beauty is the greatest of tragedies,
             You burn brighter each and every day.
   

You may have believed you failed in many ways,
       With your father, children, marriage, and life;
Failure should have never been in your vocabulary,
       Inevitability made way for your success,
You left so many clues, so many clues, so many clues…
       What was perceived to be an art was an actuality.
               Dying was an art you prophesied,
It came true and left devastation in its wake.
       Your cries reverberate throughout time,
               Decades have passed, yet your memory persists.

One cannot help but feel slightly angry,
         No one heard your cries as the time drew near.
Living on the edge never meant you were alone,
         Your heart was squandered, frivolously broken,
Your creativity, talent, and insightful spirit suspended in a bell jar.
         When the bell jar dropped you shattered,
                It was arduous to mend every shard.
The toll it took, the burden it imposed was insurmountable,
         Yet you soldiered on feeling desolate,
                Until the fissures in your bell jar widened.

Darling, you should have fought: mercilessly.
         You may have suffered immensely,
But your triumphs speak for themselves.
         Your death was premature and sacrilegious,
The catalyst to death is always solitude,
         The final blow was not your doing: you felt alone.
                You told me once that “age wears the best fabric,”
Yet you were deprived of this luxury–to live
         Your legacy is timeless, ageless,
                Even in death you still live; immortality at its finest.

Indulge in my other piece dedicated to Sylvia because why not its her birthday
Stay Mermazing,
Seraiah