The belfry of mind.

Shadows dance
around the belfry of my mind
where the church bells ring
by hooded cloaks cries.

Mists encircle harp strings broken
monuments fall from heavens above
against dark atheist’s skies reign
the tombstones have spoken.

Where thunder writes
lightening strikes
echoing the sentiments
of those that are wicked....


As the ill wind blows
on pages blown
dust becomes you-
the book of death closes.

Shadows dance
the belfry of mind
my immortal stone crumbles....
in the legends of time.

Reviews

[jacob erin-cilberto]

there might be bats in the belfry, but there are also thoughts that were and are written down...they may gather dust, but they remain ....that part of us we leave behind, as writers...
"ill wind cannot blow away those pages---only cause them to rustle."

[andrew mitchell]

thanks for your words jacob