Sylvia Plath

was my favourite poetess

still so beautiful 

up to her death 

 

beautiful poems 

stored in her mind 

even in her grave 

they are inside 

 

poems can hide you 

if your unhappy inside 

you can write 

but your sight

isnt always right 

 

she took her life 

before the poem

that night 

no stars shone

from her ceiling 

her pen had no light 

 

why did she do it ?

poems are life 

the words ran 

from the pen 

and the mind