Ariel Poems by Sylvia Plath
Sylvia PlathAriel Poems by Sylvia Plath Gönderileri
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a birthday present
tw//self-harm
I do not want much of a present, anyway, this year.
After all I am alive only by accident.
I would have killed myself gladly that time any possible way.
Now there are these veils, shimmering like curtains
the moon and the yew tree
The moon is no door. It is a face in its own right,
White as a knucle and terribly upset.
(...)
Their hands and faces stiff with holiness.
The moon sees nothing of this. She is bald and wild.
And the message of the yew tree is blackness-blackness and silence.
I could not run without having to run forever.
