Goth Poetry, influenced by Wuthering Heights

Sitting in the Ruins under a Rose Window of a long ago fallen Stonechurch

(Hymn to Heathcliff)


I can't remember when I last was happy
I sit here thinking, reflecting upon it and listen to the wind whine through the wildvine
coming from over the meadows while I try and remember love that lies forgotten forlorn
and I keep watching over there
the brisk air over the rural land might be too much for many but I entered the night and my feet were steady
but now I sit here in my own tranquility and weep in silence
'cause I just don't care...
I can't remember the last time I laughed in genuine laughter
the owls pretty close to the most exciting mirth of any creature here
in this chilly night our eyes are meeting
with a greeting I see his stare
I can see my breath before me though it's yet a fortnight til the end of the summer
so I am still in the field of four-leafe clovers
and yet I feel like an outcast on my own land watching, wronged by the man with more influence
looking over to the neighbours laird
I can remember what I did this morning
I took out my twobarreled rifle and went out pretending to be on a birdhunt
but my dog stayed at home in the cottage
fast asleep without a care
I wonder why we meet so many promising people that open doors and show
the way of life they lead there
they only want to show off their belongings
but the skill you have they see is rare
I can't remember the last time I felt so alive
and for this day on earth so deeply grateful
as when I walked to the lairds summercastle
and I knew he didn't know what was waiting
for him there
but I went back halfway up the frontyard kicking the gravel til the dogs started howling
the butler opened the door and they looked from the stables
but I was already long gone up the path of the woods
eating one of their gardens pears
I never been this goddamn unhappy
I sit here with the eerie dismayed gargoyle that has not yet rumbled and a raven is almost my pet now
I feed him from the peartree of the laird
and the moon shows it's shiny crescent silverglare
I can't fathom all the lonely days I live and still no remembrance of that joyful time
the once joyous one, but I will sit here and try in peace with my ravenfriend
and the wolf in the distance that howls...

...and when I do I surely will meet you in the clearing of the woods again...

LPWJ 15/01/09

Poetry by LordParzifal
Read 1282 times
Written on 2009-09-07 at 09:05

Tags Sadness  Loneliness  Depression 

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Joan Black
At the end of your poem you play with the words "joyful" and "joyous", and that's very nice!