Poem Beginning With A Line By Plath

November 21, 2016

alone-on-the-road

This is the light of the mind, cold and planetary,
it keeps me solitary, stumbling inside paranoia.

My anchoritic needs are not a bow to religion,
they are as prosaic as any modern-day hermit’s:

who is there to trust with the black of my heart, when
some trample, some steal what’s mine for their own?

Nuala Ní Chonchúir

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