Acrostic: Sylvia Plath

@10-15-2019, Olan L. Smith

Sorrowful bliss in hidden niches packed with poets―

Yahweh's souls gloriously gathered in a room chockfull of egos,

Laughter, smoke; where verses drip off tongues in liquefied hope

Verified upon gold leaf by narcissistic authors; where courage is

Inscribed in sand and engraved on water, an everlasting

Assurance for members of poets' coven, coveting life.

Past the cup, drink the bitter brew of past poets' anguish―

Langer in time, in ethereal planes of communal ideas,

And answer the call! I am a poet, in the heavens;

The time is always now. Turn your face to the kiln,

Heaven's fire doesn't stifle; it enlivens the collective.