Wuthering

My soul is damned, like Heathcliff’s, on the moor
I saved my love for Cathy, in the heights
If life was easy, life would be a bore
But life is more than dreams of starry nights
They found me by the curb and helped me heal
I think, sometimes, they should have let me die
But here I am, alive, allowed to feel
I’m like a brittle reed that’s tall, but dry
Emotions, like the wind, can blow me down
Such wuthering has bent my fragile soul
Sometimes I miss that curb where I was down
But love is still a height I will extol
I hope life’s rocky roads will bring me back
To Cathy, when I change my crooked tack.