Whore

All the elements have,
at some time, been my lover—
I, whore to earthly things,
I love all that suffer…

all but the sun, too bright.
The sun, too in-your-face,
I like darkness, subtlties
and wicked ways.

And just last night the moon
bled from its wings and fell,
its face milked white as bone,
the stars began to yell.

Their screams tore up the sky,
the moon lit in my yard—
O dark, suffering night,
heaven’s falling apart.

The moon lay on the ground,
the stars still in the sky;
the moon’s glow made no sound,
the stars’ eternal cry

still haunt me now
as I look out my window;
bloodless moon will suffer
‘less my loving kill my lover.

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Tags:

dark, night, poem, ode, poetry, love, death, gothic, dead, moon and goth