Oh the Horror: Vampire Poetry

Pale Though Her Eyes by Michael R. Burch Pale though her eyes, her lips are scarlet from drinking of blood, this child, this harlot born of the night and her heart, of darkness, evil incarnate to dance so reckless, dreaming of blood, her fangs—white—baring, revealing her lust, and her eyes, pale, staring... Like Angels, Winged by Michael R. Burch Like angels—winged, shimmering, misunderstood— they flit beyond our understanding being neither evil, nor good. They are as they are and we are their lovers, their prey; they seek us when the moon is full and dream of us by day. Their eyes—hypnotic, alluring— trap ours with their strange appeal till like flame-drawn moths, we gather to see, to touch, to feel. Where in their arms, enchanted, we feel their lips, so old!, till with their gorging kisses we warm them, growing cold. Vampires by Michael R. Burch Vampires are such fragile creatures; we dread the dark, but the light destroys them: sunlight, or a stake, or a cross—such common things. Still, late at night, when the bat-like vampire sings, we shrink from his voice. Centuries have taught us: in shadows danger lurks for those who stray, and there the vampire bares his yellow fangs and feels the ancient soul-tormenting pangs. He has no choice. We are his prey, plump and fragrant, and if we pray to avoid him, the more he prays to find us: prays to some despotic hooded God whose benediction is the humid blood he lusts to taste. Solicitation by Michael R. Burch He comes to me out of the shadows, acknowledging my presence with a tip of his hat, always the gentleman, and his eyes are on mine like a snake's on a bird's— quizzical, mesmerizing. He cocks his head as though something he heard intrigues him (although I hear nothing)and he smiles, amusing himself at my expense; his words are full of desire and loathing, and while I hear everything, he says nothing I understand. The moon shines—maniacal, *****—as he takes my hand whispering "Our time has come!"... And so together we stroll creaking docks where the sea sends sickening things scurrying under rocks and boards. Moonlight washes his ashen face as he stares unseeing into my eyes. He sighs, and the sound crawls slithering down my spine; my blood seems to pause as he caresses my face. He unfastens my dress till the white lace shows, and my neck is bared ...