New Lair
NEW LAIR
Lestat walked down the street muttering to himself,
eying the tide mark faintly etched on the brickwork
of his once glorious house.
Damn! Katrina really did her job well swamping
my food source. No more food, no more jazz
on the airwaves, no more sultry summer evenings
on the French style streets. Is it worth re-building it again?
Do I leave my water-drenched lair for the more common
uncultured metropolis of New York?
To Hell with it! I need to feed, a victim
I must get more blood in my veins.
Here I go, up into the sky, preternatural powers taking over.
Soon, now, blood will be mine.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
