Sunday, 8 July 2012

How frail the human heart must be - a mirrored pool of thought.

I thought that I could not be hurt
I thought that I could not be hurt;
I thought that I must surely be
impervious to suffering-
immune to pain
or agony.

My world was warm with April sun
my thoughts were spangled green and gold;
my soul filled up with joy, yet
felt the sharp, sweet pain that only joy
can hold.

My spirit soared above the gulls
that, swooping breathlessly so high
o'erhead, now seem to to brush their whir-
ring wings against the blue roof of
the sky.

(How frail the human heart must be-
a throbbing pulse, a trembling thing-
a fragile, shining instrument
of crystal, which can either weep,
or sing.)

Then, suddenly my world turned gray,
and darkness wiped aside my joy.
A dull and aching void was left
where careless hands had reached out to

my silver web of happiness.
The hands then stopped in wonderment,
for, loving me, they wept to see
the tattered ruins of my firma-

(How frail the human heart must be-
a mirrored pool of thought. So deep
and tremulous an instrument
of glass that it can either sing,
or weep).

I wish i could write like this.  This is my favourite of all the poems, closely followed by  another of Plath's work 'Apprehensions' .. honorable mention to Shakespeare's 'All the World's a Stage' and the final verse of 'Because She Would Ask Me Why I Loved Her' by Christopher Brennan.  I tried my hand at poetry writing when i was a teenager, probably the best time to write, full of emotion yet not yet tainted by the negativities of life. I kinda wish i'd have kept them.

I love the written word.

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