Floating tambourines.

a poem from my book needs work but I thought it was good enough to share.

                                                            

From the spooks of the sacred soul
or the ghouls before the holy ghost.

As every bridge hides another troll,

the graveyard gargoyle offers a toast.

"The blasphemer's bible is not dead.
Though the pages are black: new or old
and the words written, so as to glow red.
to see in the dark with hands that are cold."


in the age of decay like some savant
I watch the floating tambourines.
While the old gods grow quite gaunt
the stew of souls left simmering.

Reviews

[jacob erin-cilberto]

there is so much decadence in the world now...and so much of it is the subtle, barely noticeable kind...that which lies just under the surface, under our breath...the unsaid that is felt.
so much cold and darkness...this poem reminds me of the state we're in...even the ghosts are crying.
j.

[drew garner]

did you like it?

[jacob erin-cilberto]

oh my yes....if you get a reaction like this from me...it hit a nerve...and that is a good thing.