On Love Unrequited

A Gothic love poem...


On the couch she lies, languid and still,
On her lips, a quiver.
While behind her, beyond the window sill,
The creature secretly hovers.

He watches intently the numerous folds,
In her sumptuous silken gown.
His eye traces the threads of gold,
With which her raiment abounds.

He counts the rounded bony knobs,
Of her spine that curves like a snake,
He envisions it slithering beneath the cloth,
Leaving venom in its wake.

And her neck which is so sleek and fair,
Is covered with beads of sweat.
Of a sudden she removes a strand of hair,
Revealing further, the smooth cervical breadth.

Of her locks, so lustrous and fine,
He has dreamt through many a restless night.
The luscious tresses, swirling like vines,
Have ensnared his heart, clutching it tight.

In time the maiden sinks deeper and deeper,
Into a world of dreams and lore,
While beyond the window, amongst the creepers,
The hunchback quietly mourns.

He looks up towards the sky and utters,
A silent cry of pain,
Under his breath he feverishly mutters,
Maledictions against a Fate so cruel and vain.

For he has been cursed with an appearance so ghastly,
That none without a shudder can behold,
The ashen countenance, the cadaverous rigidity,
Of his gait, leaving mortals unsettled and cold.

Like a spectre he haunts the woods at night,
Always furtive and alone,
Hiding in the dark from humankind,
His grim and weary load.

And at times, when the moon is full,
You might hear his tragic moans,
As he mourns his love for this woman,
A Beauty he shall never hold.