The Forgotten Grave

I have always loved Sylvia Plath, and here is my little tribute to her.

 

She tossed and turned in her bed that night,

Repeating each word he had said.

Playing it over and over in her messed up head,

On the grave of her faith she wept.

She knew like it meant a bit ahead,

beyond just a single moment, a single day.

She had given it all she could, knowing no other way,

On the grave of her faith she wept.

Of love and friendship she wanted to believe,

and it took in her every breath,

He stood there as she tore down bit by bit,

On the grave of her faith she wept.

Piece by piece the faith was forsaken,

in all she had believed was beautiful,

he walked into oblivion leaving her behind,

And on the grave of her dreams she now wept.

She hoped still he would turn around,

stop a bit and hold a glance,

for all starry nights and that one last dance,

and yet on the grave of her dreams she wept.

She hoped for a sweeter goodbye,

and with the nightly moments passing she lay in her bed,

And I walked into the morning mirror,

I realised,

He had already left her for dead.