THE LETTER
The night. How pleasant is the night. It creeps slowly upon you not once rousing your suspicions. How quiet is the night. The bringer of day’s death. The awakener of death’s life. My saviour, the night. My salvation, the night.
I’m made of darkness. I carry the kiss of darkness forever with me. Inside me I am light though my being belongs to the night. My choice, my fate. This is my destiny for all eternity.
My life, your death. Nothing more, nothing less. You are feeble. Weak of mind, of body. You have no strength in your soul. You are my prey. I, your Master.
Time is my keeper. Night, my jailer. You, my food. The world, my cell. Forever.
I am your nightmare. That which you hold deep within your hearts. For each of you know me and know the fear of my kind. Different names for us all but all of us the same. I am the vampire.
To some I am a bat. To others a pale living dead skeleton. Still others see unspeakable horror and beauty mixed.
What is it I see? Myself. Blackness. I am clothed in the finest, softest of natural leathers. Flowing, form fitting garments of the richest textures.
What do you see that attracts you so. Is it our inhuman quality of your reality. Is it sexual, maybe. Sensual, definitely.
But what of us. What is it that makes our nature so frightening to you. Are you afraid of undying life. Or is it death eternal you fear.
To you my dear victim these are my questions, my thoughts. For you to answer is not realistic for as we know you are still unbelievers.
With all my undying love
Night’s shadows.
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What is Poetry Starts?
…poems and prose from now back to teen years
…remembering a first writing love
…pumping the creative well yet again
…silencing the internal critic