Gothic Poems | Examples of Gothic Poetry

Unbroken

I felt wars break in my heart—
violence my voice could not
bear to fight alone—

and still, despite the lies 
I sometimes believe, I stand 
each day in the strength 
of my creations, weaving hope 
into miracles—thread by doubtful thread,
even as the world screams 
or turns away—

even as my hands
constrict my own throat—
I bear the unfathomable ache
of

The Real You

Maybe it is not fair,
that I have been 
clinging to an idea of you—

because maybe
the real you—tempered between
my fits of desires and invention—
carries less music,
walks a busier street,
is too mundane—too prosaic
to haunt me the way 
my dreams cruelly
reimagine you. 


8.10.25

Fomes and Flame

I crave moments
when my terrified side
is extinguished by longing—
when I willingly share
fervent fires with a
mouth made of kindling…

equally languishing lips
that sear ache upon ache—
until even fear tastes
like love worth keeping.



8.7.25

Wings of the Withered Flame - inspired by Tears of the Dragon

Written: August 14, 2025 for contest Sponsored by: Robert James Liguori

          **********

The wind remembers what I tried to forget—  
a voice in the fire, a name in the rain.  
I stood on the edge of the world I had built,  
watching it crumble,

Poe

He mourned the loss of his love, on whose 
support his soul’s survival had come to desperately
rely:  Lenore!~ the only one less judging of his irrational, 
often self-destructive, passionate nature, committed
to loyally embrace and nurture his celebratory poetic genius.  Oh!~
his tormented heart yearned, hopelessly sought 
the peace, the rest, the comfort, an out

Dweller of Our Heart

Within the dark, before the day,
A golden spark will find its way;
Not borrowed light, nor fleeting flame,
But one with which the sun’s the same.

It warms the marrow, stirs the soul,
It makes the broken pieces whole;
Through weary hours, through every start,
It dwells within our beating heart.

When shadows press, it will not fade,
It stands where deepest love

Here

Here I am.
Everywhere we were.

Empty as is.

Capillaries fill with her,
like rotting roots under trees.

More than I deserve.
I’ve found your silence beneath
feeding truths in buried leaves.

To preserve,
to please.
’Til you return,
I plead.

The Seed Of Fear - Cinderella

Ominous bays of hellhounds thunder in the bleak night
As a shattered glass slipper is found amongst powdered ivory snow,
The glint caught within incorporeal warping moonlight—
Leading to a blue grey corpse, mangled with frozen tears cemented in place.
Hands clenched around a copper timepiece,
The minute hand paused at one past twelve.
The putrid scent of desperation still hangs

Planche de Chair Cuite

She was not invited

She was arranged

They never wanted Jasmine 
not the woman who brought basil-clean hands
and pomegranate soap 
who harmonized soliloquies into pastries 
while they offered only 
hinges rusted shut

She was not guest

She was garnish

Not Jasmine the flower 
but Jasmine the bulb 
strangled in its own clay
frost biting at the marrow 
buried beneath their polite

upheaved

f
  l
a
  m
e 
   s 
       of angry suns
licking  u p h e a v e d  roots of trees~
          begging for mercy 

Our Better Angels

Our Better Angels

The polished floor reflects a moonlit gleam,
A silent chapel holding a dark dream.
I etched my plea into a cold white tile,
A fragile hope against a coming wile.
But from the smooth surface, a form takes hold,
A sister to the stories left untold.
Her eyes, like shards of glacial ice, are keen,
Reflecting landscapes desolate and mean.

I

The Haunting Gaze

Once upon a woeful early December night nigh,
Who am I, in this fateful time of scry’s reprise?
Over many a quaint reminisce of my ghostly past,
Suddenly, feel eyes piercing again, with no end.
I looked around, to no avail; my time has end.
 I turned and saw darkness cast.

As I went out in the dreary night, I

Self-imprisoned

In this abyss, where senses fade,
A labyrinth of fears, eyes stick to spade
A choice self-made, a soul betrayed,
In pale moonlight, a tearful price is paid 

Man without a shrine, longing for time,
A barren altar, with no falter, heart in chains,
Death’s embrace, leaves no trace,
Echoes remain, whispering in pain.
Silence.
No more pain.

In bleakest dreams, her face indiscernibly

Iron Veil

Truth be told, or is it so,
Is strength bronze or tin?
Forever mystery lies so,
In this transcended kin.

Beneath the rust, a fragile heart,
Iron weeps, its strength apart.
A veil of secrets, shadows loom,
Where truth’s enigma finds its tomb.

In fragile echoes, whispers call,
Uncertainty befalls, thoughts of chanciness.
As ready minds begin to fall,
A second thought of unsureness.

Though some say

Beneath the Iron Veil

Echoes of the holy grace, for this place,
Endless woe of devolution,
Forever entice, your grace,
The moon is your solution. 

Confined in this space, of endless grace,
Under the moonlight, it is illusion,
Illusion of woe, forever retrace,
It is all persuasion, or is it union?

Shadows creep, where darkness breeds,
A symphony of sorrows, never-ending,
Lost souls wander, planting crushed seeds,
A tale,

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