Listen to poem:
The Bat Is Never Satisfied
The crook of vampire’s bed, the moth and silk.
Each time he slept, a century’d gone by.
Afraid of key and lock, and lock of ilk—
hers golden spun atop the steeple spry.
The belfry bell at midnight’s bite, a cry—
no priest did hear confess as blight befell.
The fading moon, the hollow breach of hell.
Awakes to candlelight, the shrouded draw
of curtains forestry in thick of knell.
She hears the eek and shred of sharpest claws.
The bat is never satisfied, his eyes
do pierce the longest gloom of Winter’s white.
His dark decrepit cape— a purple vine.
The brood of brows and lids release no light.
Along the drift, one’s cross is much too bright.
The bloodsucker attentive, her laughter—
his strife. He clasps his ears. His thoughts chase her.
She hides below her hood— she’s dressed to kill.
This century he’d caught a chill— class fur
with stake. Her prowess aim— to break his will.
9/21/20
Emile Pinet’s Dizain contest
All submitted poems must use :
https://www.rhymezone.com/
https://www.howmanysyllables.com
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