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Av någon anledning kunde denna dikt inte skrivas på något annat språk än engelska. Skriven i Heptonstall, framför Sylvia Plaths grav.


Sylvia, how could you have died?

So I stood in front of you
Wet to my knees after walking
In the grass, wet from the night’s rain
And there you were
Alone and cold
Buried underneath the earth
Below me the remains of you were
And I didn’t know if I should weep
Or begin to dig until I found your bones
And carry them home with me
Caress the remains of you
Hold them tight to my body
Love them with all my heart

That’s what I wanted, instead
I left you a rose quartz and kissed
Your name on the stone, stroked the
Earth where you are resting
And I let the tears flow down my cheek
And took home another one rose quartz,
That had bathed in your resting place.




Fri vers av Midnight
Läst 407 gånger och applåderad av 6 personer
Publicerad 2017-08-25 22:08



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    Bergenskristall
Så hjärtskärande och smärtsamt,
men ändå så verkligt!
2017-08-25
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Midnight
Midnight