Let me stroke your hair
Let me touch your skin
Give me just a taste
Tilt your chin
Lips upon your throat
Fangs within your veins
Sipping at your blood
Feel the pain
Cold may be my touch
Do not stop to think
You will be on fire
As I drink
Let me live in the light
With the sun upon my face.
Let it dazzle my eyes
And warm my skin.
I’m tired of the dark;
I’m tired of the cold;
I wither in the shadow;
I need light.
His hair is black, his flesh is cold;
He's tall and dark and lean.
His eyes are deep and dark and clear
With an unearthly sheen.
He lives in darkness, shunning light;
The sun would mean his death.
But does he live? He has no pulse
And, in his lungs, no breath.
His teeth are even, pearly white,
And yet, they're not quite right.
He does not eat what mortals eat.
It is not bread he bites.
He stalks her and she does not flee;
She finds him mesmerizing.
But if she lets him seduce her,
Will she again be rising?
Does she imagine what he is
Or is her mind o'ercome?
Does he have her in his spell?
Can she escape her doom?
--Esther Spurrill
The moon is bright;
The night is cold.
Can you be still bold
Despite?
Werewolves roam,
And vampires walk.
Their helpless prey they stalk.
Stay home.
Moonlight silvered grass and flowers,
Carven stones stood row on row,
Bells nearby hung in their tower,
Silent since no one was there.
Turn your eyes upon that mound:
New, for nothing yet will grow.
Movement now from underground;
Watch from nearer if you dare.
What is rising in the graveyard?
Coming up from down below?
Should the church have set a guard?
Could a guard have kept it there?
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