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Amberly Dean Latham

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Member Since: Before 2003

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Who I am Compared to Sylvia Plath's
by Amberly Dean Latham

Thursday, May 15, 2003
Not rated by the Author.
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Recent poems by Amberly Dean Latham
•  What It Is
•  The Self I Fear
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•  A Living Spectator Crawls
           >> View all 77

Little child,Mother calls For Your behind- by numbersAnd time callThe rhythm of you.Divine cry, Little child.Sleep yourself aloneAnd die. tonight I Held you closeWith all my passion,My dignity, my soul I throwTo the birds. Like stone,She crosses through meLike everything I knew-Over. And over again, yourAggressive nature Consumes me.Little child, little scarsAnd beaten bruises,You are not here To soothe me.I am not little, Can't you see? Someone wish care for me,Love me,And leave the child StillMirrored in me.I desire, Please. 

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Reviewed by Patricia Gomes 5/16/2003
It sure does, same flow...great job with this one, dear.

For me, this is the the hook, the breath-stopper:

"...My dignity, my soul I throw
To the birds. Like stone,
She crosses through me
Like everything I knew-
Over. And over again, your
Aggressive nature
Consumes me..."

A treasure!
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