The Abuse Of Sylvia Plyth By Poet Husband Ted Hughes

In her frail hands, she held the flame, A flicker bright, yet bound to fade— Her words, like stars, her heart aflame, Her soul, a scarred and shadowed glade. Beneath the weight of unseen chains, She sang her sorrow, soft and low, While in his eyes were cold remains Of love long buried in the snow. He turned from her, a shadow cast, A silent specter, dark and near, While each small wound became her last, Her tender voice gave way to fear. Yet still she wrote, with trembling pen, A warrior lost, but fighting still, Each verse, a scream of might, and then A wish to bend the world to will. But oh, his silence crushed her soul, His hands withheld both love and light, And in the end, she paid the toll— Her flame was lost into the night.