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they called
Theodore Sylvia and Anne the Confessionalists poets who said way too much about themselves they were those who opened all their doors letting it all fall down and spill over words pushing forward with insistence and flooding emotions in times when emotions where analyzed kept in check polite when men and women had to wear sedate 1950's disguises so there were never bad dinner guests nor unwelcome surprises uh-uh that's what the Beat Poets were for but then along came the Confessionalists and opened another wide door they wrote what was most directly in their hearts took their pens and stabbed themselves there and used the vital ink to spill their words across a blood-stained page and filled it up with fury and hunger and whimpering and longing and rage and an ennui of troubling terrors perhaps that is what killed them in the end and not simply just the age but another kind of ex-sanguination a giving of all of themselves to a public who may not have deserved them or who often misunderstood them as mildly disturbed they gave up their wedded bliss to the word and died like Romeo or Juliet did on the dagger of their pain wedded to their art Honor them I do as they are so much more to me they are braver than the brave. Copyright December 31, 2014 directly to the page last day of 2014 All Rights Are Reserved By This Author/ Meloo/Melissa A Howells Copyright Site: Tilt-a-World (straight from her Tilt-a-World) Thank you for reading... Vote for this poem |
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