Death Rides Shotgun

(for Sylvia Plath)

By D L Ennis

Death rides shotgun on the poets’ soul,
Although life breaths tranquil at times.
And love may appear, your heart too console,
And dispense respite from youthful crimes.

Grow old and bold one would surmise,
Until forthright spirit is brought down to size.

Take to wing and bleed into the sky
And then fall like the hawk to prey,
But then death rides shotgun on the poets’ soul,
Your soul must suffer and your body decay…

Life moves on in spite of the day,
And battles fought, won, and lost.
Although your heart feels that you’ve paid the cost
Loves left behind are the darlings that pay…

It’s so sad that you left us to our aching hearts;
Our hearts crushed by hands we thought strong.
And it seems so strange, that your tortured soul
Gave the world your sweet “Morning song.”

Copyright © 2003