Wuthering Life

I run to the moors, where the wind calls wild
And screams in my face like a tormented child,
Alone there, I stand, beneath the rain’s cry
Watching splintering sunlight lift the earth to the sky.
On my lips is a secret, known only to me,
The name of the lover I had to set free.
Alone with my thoughts the moors hear his name
As I relive the memory, the anguish, the pain.
The desolate counsel of the moor's silent sighs
Let the ghost of him wander as I close my eyes.
In my heart he is waiting, stolen in time
But the mocking storm shows me he is no longer mine.
Alone on the moors, I return to my life
As another mans lover and dutiful wife.

by Teedy Dawn

Comments (1)

A bit mysterious, this poem! 'Set free' and 'ghost' perhaps implying that she killed her lover (I, too, have one - 'Coming to my Senses') . Very well-written. Thanks for sharing. -chuck