There is this white wall, above which the sky creates itself- <br />Infinite, green, utterly untouchable. <br />Angels swim in it, and the stars, in indifference also. <br />They are my medium. <br />The sun dissolves on this wall, bleeding its lights. <br /> <br />A grey wall now, clawed and bloody. <br />Is there no way out of the mind? <br />Steps at my back spiral into a well. <br />There are no trees or birds in this world, <br />There is only sourness. <br /> <br />This red wall winces continually: <br />A red fist, opening and closing, <br />Two grey, papery bags- <br />This is what i am made of, this, and a terror <br />Of being wheeled off under crosses and rain of pieties. <br /> <br />On a black wall, unidentifiable birds <br />Swivel their heads and cry. <br />There is no talk of immorality amoun these! <br />Cold blanks approach us: <br />They move in a hurry.<br /><br />Sylvia Plath<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/apprehensions/
