A Gothic Poem

man made rust, and diamond dust  
broken vessels of the arcane  
spell spoken from ruby lips  
rhyming like a poetic refrain  
 
how my pulse races...  
 
haunted remnants of the wilting rose  
blows through argent winds  
scarlet sunburst, crimson petals  
electric blue avenues, welcoming  
the highway man's smoking barrel  
 
the colors snap poloroids...
 
I'm not sub-human  
my roots are buried deep  
as the moon dangles wafer-thin  
and the river calls to me  
 
coiling on the forest floor  
there is a serpent ready to strike  
licking the crimson from your lips  
infatuated by the moonlight  
 
she is the stargazer sitting  
upon her throne of stone,  
diamonds all turn to rust
 
O' how my eyes do crust