Poetry moves me 
It's captures my eye 
It finds me 
When I try to forget about it
It heal and also restore hope
It carries me when I can't 
It makes me forgive those who wronged me 
And move on from the Pain I suffer
The words of every poem.
I write 
Is defines my endless cry 
A cry that was never heard ???

For a while, people couldn&#39;t understand why I&#39;d find them so fascinating, but I&#39;d rather go to a trial than to a Broadway play. Now that we have Court TV, they see what I mean.

Progress isn’t a one day thing...but its either now or never.

I felt very still and empty, the way the eye of a tornado must feel, moving dully along in the middle of the surrounding hullabaloo.

Written By Sylvia Plath

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