Something Beautiful

Everything in my line of sight
is a slightly broken reflection
of what was once so beautiful.
My dull eyes used to shine,
with a joy that you inspired in me,
And my empty hands used to hold yours,
with such light and honest hope,
but now all I have are the memories.
The tiny snap shots of our story
that never had this end in mind.
There's no rewriting, no reliving,
just the one comforting thought:
that if I look at something beautiful long enough,
then maybe I'll remember what beauty is.

A Seemingly Perfect Day for Plath

It seems I'm having a hard time getting the inspiration to write. Words are pretty much gone. To keep myself appeased, I'll post the poetry of someone else. Sylvia Plath, someone who can say what I can't seem to right now. Enjoy. 

Denouement 


The telegram says you have gone away
And left our bankrupt circus on its own;
There is nothing more for me to say.


The maestro gives the singing birds their pay
And they buy tickets for the tropic zone;
The telegram says you have gone away.


The clever wolly dogs have had their day
They shoot the dice for one remaining bone;
There is nothing more for me to say.


The lion and the tigers turn to clay
And Jumbo sadly trumpets into stone;
The telegram says you have gone away.


The morbid cobra's wits have run astray;
He rents his poisons out by telegram;
There is nothing more for me to say.


The colored tents all topple in the bay;
The magic sawdust writes: address unknown.
The telegram says you have gone away;
There is nothing more for me to say.

                   --Sylvia Plath