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Poetale: The Vampire

I wonder why we are warm blooded
And yet men is to another, stone cold
The suns’ light hide such many things;
In the depths of wells, beings with wings
And the thoughts, which we fear exist
They come and disappear like the mist

With the appearance of the moon
The fur extends beyond the skin
Farther it stretches to a big beard
Faces torn, strange and very bold
The tricks Nature play on men:
As like Count Dracula in his den
And all fiery and fearful beings
Which I solemnly call ‘just things’

Walk not alone in a forest
By a full moon light
Dreadful creatures crawl about
Seeking for that, that gives it delight;
No conscience, but real taste
For the warm blood on the breast

And when I had a little converse
On what gives her special interest
I got a huge shocker
And I was left to wonder…

Life is not always cold
Afterthoughts, I replied
“Don’t you see how I look?
I am a fellow vampire too,
I have long ears like the elf
Lips, eye colors, all of a wolf!”
Trying to fend off signs of fear
Both of us, never to see the others fare
And for those who call out like an umpire
A quick terror of such a name, vampire

For my friend Grace Anya, for she believes she’s a vampire.

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