the needles within

the needles within

pine trees,

and gin streets

the scent of nature's breath

the cold hard aroma of opened bottles

like hearts in paper bag clothing

it's all the same,

we take deep inhales

at the mountains and the tall timbers

gracing the sunset

and then cry

at the sound of shuffling feet

red eyed tenaciousness

trying to survive

and the crinkling sound

of swigs of lives

just waiting to grace

their last sunset.

erin-cilberto

2/1/17

Reviews

[BBP]

Poised and harsh ... I liked this and the title was brilliant. Your metaphoric writing is always so sharp.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

thank you for your kind words, Bev.

j.

[John Alexander McFadyen]

Our guilt at doing nothing for those who are lost as we enjoy life's simple things indeed feels like needles inside our guilty hearts as we do feel for such folk and yet................................The master of metaphor pricks our conscience again!

[jacob erin-cilberto]

thank you for your kind words, John.
j.

[Jimmy Yetts]

How can such lovely poetry bring me so low?
Thou hast committed a venial sin against Hope.
Say three "Our Fathers" and call me in the morning.
(Not too early.)

[jacob erin-cilberto]

okay, not too early...
thank you, Jimmy..at least it's a venial...

j.

[ms. barrie]

poignant piece, written with elegance, and intriguing metaphors. the dictation, brilliantly executed

[jacob erin-cilberto]

thank you for your very kind words, barrie...
j.