Wuthering Heights - A PoemHer ghostly presence still haunts his dreams,Wuthering Heights - A Poem1 year ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
the central force behind his schemes.
Each decision is carefully planned,
maneuvered by her cold, dead hand.
The seeds she planted long ago
have only now begun to grow;
they germinate slowly at first,
sprouting with an unquenched thirst.
Some nights he still hears her voice,
unsure if it’s insanity’s choice;
Across the arid wasteland calling,
as the stinging sleet is falling;
toward the lowlands of the dead
wherein ancestors’ ghosts with hollow eyes
search amidst endless sullen skies,
their ice cold fingers pierce the skin,
in an attempt to reach the soul within.
Barren air is filled with Ravens’ cries
and forsaken lovers mournful sighs.
He’ll call his Catherine from her cold,
attenuated, barren moorland road.
Back to Wuthering Heights, bringing her home,
no more gnarled paths shall she roam.
Out along the frozen moor
wherein deep snow falls and northern winds roar,
Catherine’s spirit passes through th