Black sun on the run
Born a mute
On my back sans coat
dressed in black.
no fringes of lace
hold me
In place.
Intact at last
I fling curses
at the stars
bury my wishes
In jars.
Turn these shadows into shade
hold my breath
for an age
kiss a lion
In a cage
condemned
to evade
an early grave.
Delphiniums are for love,
wild honey for taste
we roll
away stones,
learn to sing again.
John Marks
Tue 31st May 2022 22:33
Thank you Holden, Tom, Pete, Stephen G, Stephen A and Frederick.
I am terrified by this dark thing
That sleeps in me;
All day I feel its soft, feathery turnings, its malignity.
From the poem "Elm", 19 April 1962
Sylvia Plath,