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Raising Sylvia: A Plath Tribute

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Published on Aug 11, 2010

The match was lit.
You threw it upon a bed
Of words and set them on fire.
Your words still sear.
And in our ears we heard your
Perpetual torture.
Sad Saint.
You've burned down your
Own forest like you were in
Awe of your own hell.
But you rise despite yourself
In the inferno of your own words.
As if you knew
We'd raise your miracles
again and again.

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