Poetry

A little taste of poetry, both in Hebrew and in English

Danse Macabre

Ink pierces through the soul,

As it echoes through the spine,

This ghost is not yet yours,

Though dare I say, it's not yet mine.

The wound grows deeper,

The ghosts dance through it.

The ghosts dance through.

My own ghost is now weaker,

The ghosts dance through it,

They all went through.

As petals fall and the daffodils die,

On their graves, on their bones, where they peacefully lie;

My bones shiver; my lungs are filled with tears,

The ghosts dance on it,

The ghosts dance on.

Now stripped of skin and flesh, and all I have are fears,

The ghosts that were once mine,

The ghosts danced on.

The daffodil had crumbled,

Now my vanity is yours.

And when your wound will open,

It will echo through our cores.