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Sylvia's Plath poems

Still-born, they don't always die,
but dazzled, they can't forget a drug so sweet
that even children would look on and smile.

To thrust all that life under your tongue! --
that, all by itself, becomes a passion.
Death's a sad bone; bruised, you'd say,

and yet she waits for me, year and year,
to so delicately undo an old would,
to empty my breath from its bad prison.

Balanced there, suicides sometimes meet,
raging at the fruit, a pumped-up moon,
leaving the bread they mistook for a kiss,

leaving the page of a book carelessly open,
something unsaid, the phone off the hook
and the look, whatever it was, an infection.

February 3, 1964

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Comments on this photo:

Jan 23 2008 20:39 GMT Pea2007
nice words
Jan 23 2008 21:19 GMT DIGITALOOKING
very nice poem! lovely shot :)
Jan 23 2008 23:41 GMT masqui
I love Sylvia Plath!!! Great capture.
Jan 24 2008 05:05 GMT nimbus
i love her either:) my favourite!
Jan 24 2008 13:50 GMT eleni78 PRO
δεν ξέρω την εν λόγω ποιήτρια (είμαι και λίγο άσχετη με την ποίηση :) ), το ποιηματάκι της είναι όμορφο όμως
υπέροχη η φώτο από τον πανέμορφο Πόρο!!
Jan 24 2008 15:03 GMT nimbus
αν και πεσιμίστρια η sylvia, είναι υπέροχη η ποίησή της.
καλησπέρα Ελένη μου:)
Feb 05 2008 21:46 GMT sourdos
Και αν είναι η αλήθεια μας μισή, μόνος και εγώ όπως και εσύ!!
Βάλε με στα στήθη σου, να μαι το παραμύθι σου!!!