SYLVIA
there is no
literary irony
that life
cannot outdowhat did you think?
what did you believe?
(the questions that
haunt like
icy winds
in your head)did you imagine
your poems would speak for you
come to your recuse
drown out
those dark voices?My dear, you know,
as do I, that
they come from
the same placeno readers are here now
to offer praise or
share sufferingthere is only
the despair, a world gone cold
as a winter crematorium
closed temporarily
for peaceOh the lightning
of those people, their
sure male-lion faith
in conquest, in sexual prowessbut now you burrow to where
the gas hisses, asphyxiating,none of the power of
those vital animals, powerful
brutal, beautifulwe all know
the poem
SYLVIA
23 Saturday Jun 2018
Posted Author, death, Poem, Poet, poetry, Poetry, Poetry, Sylvia Plath, Uncategorized
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