Echoes from the moors

There was a road

a narrow road over the

gloomy, never-ending moors

and along it, there was a bleak man,

dark-haired as the night without stars

with so piercing, sinister eyes!

 

He then spoke to me with weary voice;

‘Did you know that she’s still here?’

‘My Cathleen is walking on these moors,

moors of regret and remorse

but I will never find her!’

 

That grim man tore his hair, and fell to his knees,

screeching in pain, and there was a voice that

sounded more like a wounded animal than

a human-like and the wind started to rise

 

And that sullen man spoke again;

 

‘My Cath is here, but I will never, never find her!

Cath, my dear Cath, come to me, come to me

and make the devil’s work empty!

Cath, my dear Cath, please come to me

and do not torture me no more!’

 

That dark man turned his face towards the ground

and all of a sudden he was lying down like a dead man,

and the wind rose, it howled, it howled and screeched

over the gloomy, never-ending moors

 

Little purple flowers lifted their heads from the green moor

that dreary man no longer spoke except with his last breath,

almost like a whisper, like a prayer on his lips;

‘Cath, my dear Cath’… ‘Torture me no more!’

 

that unhappy man never again opened his weary eyes

and so the narrow road disappeared in the grey fog.

 

And those little red flowers, red as lifeblood, shed on the ground

lifted their heads from the green moor and surrounded him and her

a gloomy man and a sorrowful woman who bowed over him,

her auburn hair flowing free and her narrow, pale hand touching his cheek!

 

So the little purple flowers lifted their heads from the green moor

remembering those two lonely and painful souls.

 

Author's Note

This is my tribute to the Heathcliff and Cathy, my tribute to the Wuthering Heights and its writer.

The name of the woman has been changed to a slightly different version.

Reviews

[Paul Bell]

Grim story indeed. Fast forward today, and the parable is still there. Love the dark stuff myself.

[~Sarah~ Idríel The Fair]

Thank you.

[Coyote Poetry]

A powerful and worthwhile story. You create sad situation and left-over pieces of a story, once alive. I liked the ending to the amazing story dear Sarah.
Coyote

[~Sarah~ Idríel The Fair]

Always appreciate your words, dear poet friend.

[Coyote Poetry]

Was my pleasure and you are welcome dear Sarah.

[emmajoy]

'.. and the wind rose, it howled, it howled and screeched~ over the gloomy, never-ending moors '

Your play on one of my very favourite books is, in part, written well as poetry. The darkness of the tale is present, the abiding love, the memories, the tears.. all present. Perhaps there are one or two excess changes.. but nonetheless the piece suggests the mood of the book if not its depths.

Thank you so much for sharing.

[~Sarah~ Idríel The Fair]

Thank you so much. I really appreciate your words.