“I did not want any flowers, I only wanted
to lie with my head turned up and be utterly empty.”
– Sylvia Plath
I am the echo from the grave,
the soul that speaks from under
the worn soil and pale flowers –
decorations of your love.
I speak in rhythms of lonely tunes,
the spirit of Christmas gone
too late, too late.
Remove the chains
you have given me.
I shall wander, an empty spirit
on roads too old for feet –
I have none,
only chains to drag.
Look up, lest you become like me,
the grave that does not die –
look up, look up!
Empty yourself of the anchor
pulling you under.
Heart filled does the giver give,
never empty of the unseen.
Not flowers, nor charms, nor beauty,
just joy of an abounding-
turn-the-tide saint.
1980s
Anne's mediocre poetry 