The Vampire

The vampire kneels in the rising rays of the sun,
Hands clenched in prayer as he knows his time is done.
He recounts his blessed time spent in living h***,
Left with meager minutes to contemplate on and dwell,
Before the sun rises and the death it brings.
Fear and confusion wait in the wings,
Where it is only getting worse and worse,
Clouding Man's mind like a hex or a curse.
The first rays spear the belly of the clouds,
Casting light on the faces of the gathered crowds.
The vampire lifts his head high,
And then in burning agony does he die,
Leaving nothing more but ashes in his wake,
And a legacy that for years after makes men shake.





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Kestrel This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. said...
Jun. 6, 2012 at 4:15 pm
I hate vampires, or at least sparkly ones. But this poem reminds of the originals, Dracula and so on. It's really good. The last line is great. :-)
 
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