Friday, April 19, 2013


Heathcliff

I’ll be your Heathcliff,
straining to hear your voice
in the wild winds
that tear across the winter moors,
whirling and screaming
their pain; 

I’ll be your Heathcliff,
lying awake at night
in case your cold fingers
come scratching at my window,
clawing and grasping
their way in; 

I’ll be your Heathcliff,
slowly dying inside
as you frivolously meander
hand in hand with another,
pretending she fills your soul
overflowing; 

I’ll be your Heathcliff,
when Hell freezes over
and the sunlight comes again
across the summer moors,
through my window
I’ll let you in again.

 

©ACG
19 April 2013