The night wind blows like death across the moors,
the last black breath of this sick, gasping earth
whose dank, already rotting corse is wrapped
in cerements of fog; let us not speak,
but silent as the stones round ruined kirks--
we shadowed sentinels with naught to guard
but darkness--let's yet find joy where we may.
I'll show you mine if you will show me yours!
Take off your velvet cloak (which must be worth
a lot), and from that bondage where they're trapped
spring free your thingies! Here among these bleak
and shadowed woods, safe from those preppy jerks
at school who laugh and pull my Vlad cape--hard--
let's show we can go Gothic--all the way!
6 comments:
Inspired by That Greeny Flower's post inviting Goth-related poems, I threw together this one--an imagined conversation between two teenage goths. A little Poe, a little Rice, and a little "Gather Ye (Black) Rosebuds While Ye May." All in fun, natch--nobody hex me, please.
That is so frickin' hilarious!!!
Preppy Jerks! Vlad cape!
Delicious, you.
Thanks for such a fabulous addition to our Goth-o-Matic week.
This rocks.
Big, lonely, windswept, moss-covered rocks.
Scott, you have outdone yourself this time. How delightfully, Gothically absurd! Love it, love it.
Holy crap.
"Spring free your thingies" -- Best. Come-on. Ever.
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