The Silhouette...

His eyes melted at her sight,
her coldness was so like his...
In her fierce love his heart burned,
dark love, even nights were bright…

Together they wandered the heights,
till she parted with words unsaid,
“I am him and he is me”
but all he heard was,
“we can never be...”

Anger is where fire burns...
a passion, now consumed by hate.
Wet winters never flickered his rage,
vowed to claim what was his always.
Even death couldn’t part her soul,
and in his wait, she wandered the moors...

Till the summers faded
and the cold winds blew,
that night his heart bled true.
A knock and a voice frail,
“let me in”
was all she said…

- Eon Heath


P.s.- This was long over due. Dedicated to you. Wuthering Heights.



Image courtesy: Pan Books 1967 edition.