The Last Guest

Enshrouding years came thronging all as one, Oppressing him, reminding him of Time Lichening his castle walls, all blackening with grime Where never shone the golden glimmer of the dawning sun; The Count had lived for centuries with none. Magenta dusk was gathering once more, As evening came shadowing the hall, He, the red-lipped Count, a-striding restlessly, so tall And stately on the granite floor. Then inward…swung…the outer door. Ethereal lady…a visitor at last, Assuaging decades of despaired retreat. Thus he takes her arm and guides her to a chair Till suddenly the crimson Count falls back dismayed, aghast— She smiles. “Don’t ask my name. Your time is past. Decrepit vampires cannot everlast…”