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What is so real as the cry of a child?

Sylvia Plath

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Sylvia Plath
Age: 30 †
Born: 1932
Born: October 27
Died: 1963
Died: February 11
Autobiographer
Diarist
Essayist
Novelist
Poet
Writer
Boston
Massachusetts
Victoria Lucas
Sylvia Plath Hughes
Children
Real
Cry
Child

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...we shall board our imagined ship and wildly sail among sacred islands of the mad till death shatters the fabulous stars and makes us real.
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But writing poems and letters doesn't seem to do much good.
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So much working, reading, thinking, living to do! A lifetime is not long enough.
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Your room is not your prison. You are.
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I wanted change and excitement and to shoot off in all directions myself, like the colored arrows from a Fourth of July rocket.
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If I didn’t think, I’d be much happier.
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Hour by hour, day by day, life becomes possible.
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I saw the years of my life spaced along a road in the form of telephone poles threaded together by wires. I counted one, two, three... nineteen telephone poles, and then the wires dangled into space, and try as I would, I couldn't see a single pole beyond the nineteenth.
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As a poet I would say everything should be able to come into a poem but I can't put toothbrushes in a poem. I really can't.
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