The West Egg, the East Egg and in between
The valley of ashes- bleak and barren,
Gray, grotesque, decaying, and ashen,
As those that live behind their wealthy screen.
A slowly rising city of gray gardens,
Gray houses, gray chimneys under gray skies.
Like careless people who do not ask pardons
And like the city are only a disguise.
But above the gray the blue remains
The icy blue which sees all below
And knows that all who pass are masks
Gaudy but grotesque on the fast moving trains.
Those knowing eyes were left there long ago
To see, to judge, to know but never ask.



i wrote this poem after reading the great gatsby in english class

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