Dark & Sad Gothic Poems


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psychic gothic


A Sad gothic Poem


We returned to the faithful forest 
To find it volcano-blasted. 
Belly up and sallow as a dead 
Grandfather on a slab. In such ash land 
A Goldfish in a glass doesn't 
Serve for a heart. 

O our old mountain home 
Unto thee we will come 
Driven down on the bones 
Drowning sound of the drums 

The Gremlin comes from the North. Equipped 
With his juggler bits and hidden daggers, 
Painted Eyes and mailcious grinning, 
Pillager of the pillaged, 
Jigging and twirling, giggling burner 
In the abandoned village. 

o our old mountian home 
Unto thee we will come 
Driven down on the bones 
Drowning sound of the drums 

In the deepest down, the first valley, 
The cleft where we first took stage, 
We make our last proud bow 
Before an ampitheatre full of no one. 
Tired of applause, they left for space 
When our dramas lost their 
Laws of gravity. 

O our old mountian home 
Unto thee we will come 
Driven down on the bones 
Drowning sound of the drums


-By albatross



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