Gothic Poetry

Thunder is heard in the distance

Dark clouds cloak the sky

Lightning strikes

The vengeful sufferer

Standing in the storms wake

The field lays empty

Except the lone soul

Daring to brave the wrath barely held at bay

Rustling trees

Swaying leaves

Moving in the wind

The rain starts slow

Soon soaking through clothes

Penetrating deep into his skin

A cleansing wash

Soon cut short

By the storm moving on its way

In the field

He stands renewed

Alas he too

Moves on his way

 

-Tanya Petkau