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Sylvia Plath - Apprehensions

There is this white wall, above which the sky creates itself --
Infinite, green, utterly untouchable.
Angels swim in it, and the stars, in indifference also.
They are my medium.
The sun dissolves on this wall, bleeding its lights.

A grey wall now, clawed and bloody.
Is there no way out of the mind?
Steps at my back spiral into a well.
There are no trees or birds in this world,
There is only sourness.

This red wall winces continually:
A red fist, opening and closing,
Two grey, papery bags --
This is what i am made of, this, and a terror
Of being wheeled off under crosses and rain of pieties.

On a black wall, unidentifiable birds
Swivel their heads and cry.
There is no talk of immorality amoun these!
Cold blanks approach us:
They move in a hurry.

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Added: Feb 20 2003 | Viewed: 4659 times | Comments and analysis of Apprehensions by Sylvia Plath Comments (8)

Apprehensions - Comments and Information

Poet: Sylvia Plath
Poem: Apprehensions
Volume: The Collected Poems
Year: Published/Written in 1962
Poem of the Day: May 5 2012

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