Dying is an art

Or so she said !

What of the mind so troubled
that lucidity all but gone
and the only sound drear, sombre notes
ne'er the cheerfulness of song.

What of the mind so troubled
that the future not a thought
and death is a friend whose companionship
every decade insanely sought.

What of the mind so troubled
that love leads only to death
and there finally peace in an angels arms
a full stop as a final breath...

Author's Note

Read a couple of Plaths' poems and then this penned

Reviews

[jacob erin-cilberto]

from my favorite lines of poetry..."dying is an art, like everything else. I do it exceptionally well, I do it so it feels like hell, I do it so it feels real"-----our own Lady Lazarus...
what an excellent feel of her you present here...
"I have done it again. One year in every ten, I manage it"---

I quite love this poem, Gee...

[Gee]

So happy you like this one Jacob as I know how much Sylvia Plath means to you :))
Thank you kindly.
Hope all is well in your neck of the woods

[Arundass TP]

Death is final; but not final , as we live on this planet through our sons and daughters. Individual itself creates heaven and hell in ones own life. But at last the truth exists. Question : why are we born? Good poem.

[Gee]

Thank you kindly sir :))

[Coyote Poetry]

For many years. I sought the reasons to want death over life. Still seeking the answer.
"What of a mind so troubled
that love will lead to death
and peace be found in the angels arms
a full stop her final breath..."
The above lines. Are solid and real. The trouble mind can lead us to deadly place. Thank you dear friend for sharing the powerful and amazing poetry.
Coyote

[Gee]

Life is so, so precious as you know from your own life experiences. It must be a very dark place the mind is in to want to end ones own existence.
Hope you are well Coyote and enjoying the festivities.
Thank you.
Take care

[Coyote Poetry]

You are welcome my dear friend.

[emmajoy]

Precious words read with care, even though your poem might have been scribed quickly. Gee. Think my post~festive mind is finding something personal is the reason for your words. Some past hints of emotions can ring the heart til meanings find a resting point. Angels' arms are the warmest of beds and infinite. Might have misinterpreted but. come what may. your words have an elegance of their own.

[Gee]

Good morning. May well be something in the subconscious that triggers words like this. Was actually thinking of a friends other day whose daughter committed suicide on the 09/12/2018, perhaps it was this ! Anyways, thank you for having a butchers( Eliza Doolittle speak) and commenting :))
Hope you are well m'dear and are not growing a crimbo food belly otherwise you will be needing to visit Evans for new drawers :)

[emmajoy]

Laughing re, Evans cos i'm just a little too small for now. give me time, however. Never say never!

What a sad, sad reason for your poem.. didn't know how to interpret your words, various thoughts.. but knowing now makes the meaning even more relavent. Heartbreaking. Hugs you all.