Least Read Gothic Poems

Gothic Angel

Gothic angel in leather pants
That gleam like moonlight on a black cat
On a cobblestone street in Prague
Flexing her feline muscles at midnight
As the torchlight of her eyes
Takes me into the deeper mysteries
Of her darkly lit arts
When she leads me
Out of the dungeon of my fears
Into the freedom of a raven taking wing
From the skeleton of a winter tree

You see, I've always hated the word witch, Shaman, medicine man I never really mind,  
but healer now that rolls off the tongue,  
sweet as honey, light as breath.  

And yet, the record spins again,  
Lana’s voice calling the Season of the Witch,
over and over, an old vinyl whisper,  
crackling like firelight in the dark.  

They all think they’re different—  
but they’re all the same.  
Just words shifting shape,  
just names draped in different robes.  

I used to dream of flying,  
too bad I can’t.  
But I...