The moon is lighting up the
night, a few clouds paint the sky,
Through bending trees a steady breeze is turning to a cry.
The rustling of crisp leaves the only other sound,
A graveyard bathed in gray nightlight casts shadows on the ground.
The resting place of many souls so desolate
and cold,
At one with heaps of freshened soil, his story must be told.
Be he called the prince of darkness or a creature of the night,
His presence here is all too clear as he comes into sight.
An undernourished body with a face
sunken and pale,
He calls himself a vampire and these words will tell his tale.
He moves with such precision, yet his fingers leave no mark,
A ballet of the living dead performing in the dark.
This reason for him rising is to fill his
lust for food,
In search of blood and innocence, his hunger is renewed.
Once more he hoist's his cloak up high, dark magic he applies,
As now his shape is of a bat, into the night he flies.
The smell of virgin purity to satisfy his
need,
Temptation with the softest flesh, a neck on which to feed.
In silent flight he scours the night until his pray is found,
Then up against a window pane, his entrance makes no sound.
So deep in slumber, and serene, she has no
need to wake,
Her flesh is offered as she sleeps, her innocence at stake.
Brushing back her silken hair, his demon eyes do flicker,
His moisten lips move to her skin, his tongue begins to lick her.
Aroused by beauty and its taste, no more can
he resist,
His mouth begins to open wide, her virgin neck is kissed.
Two teeth break through to sap her blood, she mumbles in her sleep,
Another victim claimed tonight, he bites into her deep.
Revitalized and satisfied, he leaves her
where she lay,
New energy will see him through the up and coming day.
A face full of perverse intent, once more he greets the night,
His pray now weakened, left for dead, the price of his delight.
The wind still sings a tale of woe, each
gust a lonely cry,
As a silent and unholy shape flies up into the sky.
The moon still holds onto the night though dawn will soon be here,
He heads back to his sanctuary, daylight’s drawing near.
Once more the graveyard greets him as so
effortlessly he creeps,
To sleep again and hide away the secret that he keeps.
But one day soon, in light of moon, he may indeed arrive,
To take you for his pleasure as he struggles to survive.
For life and death are present in the way he
must exist,
Will you be safely sleeping, or the next one to be kissed....
Copyright Alexander 1998
