1 min read
Слушать(AI)Gold Mouths Cry
Gold mouths cry with the green youngcertainty of the bronze boyremembering a thousand autumnsand how a hundred thousand leavescame sliding down his shoulder bladespersuaded by his bronze heroic reason.
We ignore the coming doom of goldand we are glad in this bright metal season.
Even the dead laugh among the goldenrod.
The bronze boy stands kneedeep in centuries,and never grieves,remembering a thousand autumns,with sunlight of a thousand years upon his lipsand his eyes gone blind with leaves.
Sylvia Plath
Sylvia Plath (October 27, 1932 – February 11, 1963) was an American poet, novelist, and short-story writer.
Comments
You need to be signed in to write comments
Other author posts
Daddy
You do not do, you do not do Any more, black shoe In which I have lived like a foot For thirty years, poor and white,
Spinster
Now this particular During a ceremonious april With her latest Found herself, of a sudden, intolerably
Medusa
Off that landspit of stony mouth-plugs, Eyes rolled by white sticks, Ears cupping the sea's incoherences, You house your unnerving head—God-ball,
Soliloquy Of The Solipsist
I I walk alone; The midnight Spins itself from under my feet;