The Ultimate Vampire Resource and Directory

The man is dressed

in a dark, empty color,

black covers the man,

who waits in the even darker shadows.

Waiting for that one moment,

when everything will come into play.



He looks in every direction

waiting for his enemy.

The time is coming near,

as if it should even be.

He pulls out his sword,

the peacemaker, he calls it.



He begins to sharpen it one last time

knowing this will be the end.

He then pulls out his guns,

and he cleans them

and loads them

ready for the final battle.



Rog, the great king,

makes his way,

towards the dark man.

Rog lifts his grand scepter

and yells a battle cry,

ready to begin.



Ramse, the dark man,

darts from the shadows,

and attacks,

and Rog, the great king,

defends against the assault.

They battle for hours.



In the end, Ramse

stands victorious

with Rog dead at his feet,

he did what was right,

but now he must pay

the ultimate price.



The guards run for Ramse,

the assassin, the one who killed the king

Ramse doesn't try to run

he knows it is all over.

They take him down,

and they execute.



He saved the world,

from the evil dicator of earth,

but he had to pay,

for his merciless actions.

He did what was right,

he did what was right.

Does the one god,

or gods,

accept me?



Or does the one god,

or gods,

deny me?



Will him,

or they,

throw me out,

in the final hour?



Or will him,

or they,

bring me in,

and shelter me for enternity.

Do you,

a worthless speck,

upon the cold dark earth,

think the unthinkable?



Do you,

the wretched,

and corrupt human being,

even care?



Do you,

the sick and twisted,

demented imp,

have a soul?



Do you,

the only one who cares

who has a heart

dare to dream?

The watchmen

watching

the king

sleeping

the people

sleeping



The army

advancing

the torches

burning

the blood

boiling



The wall

crumbling

the swords

swinging

the men

screaming



The watchmen

dying

the king

surviving

the people

slaving



The vagabong

running

the army

chasing

the wanderer

escaping.



God speed.

I weep sweet tears,

of revenge.

The crimson fluids lay,

upon the cold floor.

The body is left,

morbid and cold,

just like the floor it lays upon.



To kill a human,

is to free the soul,

of the wretched sphere,

called earth.

The gods are well pleased,

with the sacrafice.



No more tears fall,

and the dark emotion,

subsides into the

chasms of my mind.

My twisted being,

sleeps beside the corpse.

The gods want me,

why don't you?

Are you afraid,

of realization?

To become something,

different.

To be a 'freak'

to the so called

society?



The masses want

nothing more,

than to see you struggle,

if you are different.

If one is

a tiny bit deviant,

they shall not be

brought in.



So the truth is,

do not listen

to the society.

The propaganda bastards

they're hypocrites really,

because deep down inside,

they want to be just as different,

as we are.

If what I am,

is all that I can be,

why are you not accepting?



Is it because I am different

or that I don't do what you do,

what is wrong with me?



I don't see why,

no one can accept,

what I am.



I have become

what I chose to become,

and nothing more.



Don't try to change,

my being,

or you will push me away.

The brisk wind brushes the tall grass,

from one side, and to another.

The wind is peaceful and calm,

like my mind.



I am at peace with the earth,

the animals listen to my words,

like no other man will do.

The dirt is soft in my hands.



The sun is setting,

a fiery blaze of heat,

it blasts its last wave,

upon my cold body.



I look into the brook at my feet,

and feel myself wave

the wrinkles upon my face,

from the ripples of the water.



The reflection of me,

is not of me now,

but of me in the future,

still loving the nature.