*this poem developed from a high school writing assignment to write a poem like Sylvia Plath.
The young man stands, tossed by the wind. Caring
nothing for the way he looks, or so he'll have you think, he gazes
ominously out to sea. Stirring
slightly, he notices me. Devilish black hair reflects innocent moon-white
as the water drowns out his smile. Mesmerized,
we stand, as cloud covers the sky and leaves
hearts cold and lacking. It has grown old in my absence-
no life but our stirs in this sparse place.
Society's pestilence has spread far.
History intertwined, the young man and I
leave this ghostly sight. We met young,
omniscient in the way of life, cruel
in our naivete. But tide came, high and unforgiving,
ripping us from our ignorance, and soaking us
in an epiphany we could not yet comprehend.
Forgive me for my past! I cry, as frost binds my
recollection to this spot. My eyes
blanken, but you do not notice, because we have finally learned what we were taught
years ago.
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