My sincerest apologies to Tobias for my lapse yesterday.
To my readers, here is a little tidbit I’ve been working on. It’s a little shaky, but I kind of like its formation, although I think it might work better as spoken voice poetry. What do you think? How many allusions are you familiar with?
A Plath Work
I am something out of a Plath work,
One of Wilde’s creations.
This Miss Eyre who travels the roads
Alone and friendless, not a relation to claim her.
And while many a day goes by
That I feel so young and insignificant
In this Peter Pan Syndrome that holds me captive,
I can only wish that I was half as courageous as dear Peter.
As split as two-faced Rodya
This Raskolinov awaits the arrival
of His Sonya, the one who keeps
the Demons outside, at bay.
But despite the waiting, inside-
Inside I know that no salvation awaits;
No Sonya will appear, and I’ll
Be left Anna. Anna Karenina.
Was I a Scarlett who lost her only Melanie?
Who chased the love of Rhett away through
The lustful longing of Ashley?
The passionate pride of a young girl’s fantasy.
Or was there more to it?
Scarlett I could handle, with her passion and her fire.
But, what if I was more? What if at heart,
I was Lord Henry, pulling the strings on my own cast of Dorians?
I am something out of a Plath work.
Inside my Bell Jar, alone I wait
For what will come of this life.
For the grey seagull to bring me what it will.