The Dance of Feeding (A Poem)

He walks the night
This creature of pleasure
He is untouchable
This beast of the senses
He is too beautiful,
Too fine to be mortal
A work of art in motion
Perfection in the making
His voice is the feel of silk
His movements are liquid
His smell is the moonrise
His touch is seduction
He is made of all beauty
How can one such as this be?
How can he live as he does?
Such beauty, such perfection…
And he is the son of the devil

He lives the night
This prince of blood lust
He has seen worlds rise and fall
As the breathing of a child
He is too beautiful,
Too handsome to be loved
A song that sings itself
Beauty untouchable
He seduces without thought
Daughters, Sisters, Wives, Mothers
They lay themselves out before him
Awaiting his cold embrace,
Both tender and terrible
They beg for him, pine for him
Because they know they will never,
Never be able to have him
Because he is the vampire king

He rules the night
This broken reflection of life
He has been a thousand men
Has lived under a thousand names
As a man he was a simple soldier
A warrior who met the devil on eve
Before the battle piqued and broke…
Before he could die
“I offer you the world,” the antichrist tempted
And the soldier accepted,
The son of the Devil, now and forever
Perfect beauty for a lost soul
Impossible strength for a lost belief
Immortality for the light of day
What he gave up he has forgotten
Forsaken for the taste of the living wine
Forsaken… for perfection

He is the night
This spirit of darkness
He has killed so many,
Has seen such terrible things
He is too beautiful,
To perfect to feel sorrow
He begins the dance of feeding
A smile, a look and the dance starts
She is amazed that he has chosen her
They dance, they walk, the laugh and talk
And then, he takes her out into the darkness
He takes her and holds her close
A brief flash of pain, a shock of cold
And then fiery pleasure that consumes
She falls without life and then she rises
She is too beautiful,
Too fine to be mortal…

Lost

I am lost, but I know where I am, I cannot see but I know where I stand, I walk but I do not move… I love but I do not feel.
I whisper into the darkness and my own voice echo’s back at me, telling me what I already know.
“Where am I?”
“You are here.”
“Who am I?”
“You are you.”
“What am I?”
“You are.”
I walk in the misty places that shroud my thoughts, as that is what they can only be. Such burning mist scalds my skin, though it is not real, it can’t be real.
The mist is a pale silver, almost transparent but not clear enough to show the way, and it burns me so badly, my skin blisters and melts and from my wounds comes a hissing pus the color of oil.
Was my blood always black? Or was it once as deep a red as a sunset in summer? Or was it like the oceans water, ever shimmering and ever blue?
Why can’t I remember these things?
I can’t remember because I do not wish to remember. What is the use of knowing the color my blood once was when it is now black?
The mist shatters and the air around me cools, my skin no longer burns and I can see for hundreds of miles around me.
Red cliffs shoot to the sky like rockets, murky water tickles from holes in their sides, but never touch the sandy orange-yellow-brown earth I stand on, instead they curve through the air, calmly supported by nothing, their river bank, small narrow divots in the ground, calling up to them in the voices of mirrors.
What do mirror voices sound like? Are they simply an echo of out own voice? Or is it ours but not? Same but opposite?
It doesn’t matter. The voices of mirrors are silent once more and the murky water slides through the air into their river beds once more, creating the music of brooks… a sound I know and would never forget.
The sky above me is white, with red clouds twirling and dancing across it, I catch glimpses of faces with in the clouds, laughing with one another but ignoring me… that’s alright… Rocks are stones who looked at the earth and wished to belong.
In front of me the cliffs grow closer and arch upward, creating a cathedral made of blood and stone, a cathedral towards
The world
Where I once lived.
Do I wish to return to this word? Or forever wander this empty place where the wind seems to weep and the sand to laugh? Where the sky is white and the clouds soaked with blood.
Why so much blood? Why so much red? What happened to me?
I am walking beneath those arches, looking up at the white sky behind them, at the red clouds who notice me and become solid creatures that fall, fall, fall through the air and become towering cliffs with frozen faces.
… Those faces will be eroded by the murky waterfalls and weeping wind soon…
I continue to walk and soon the sky above me vanishes and all I see is the pale blue of the sky and the puffy white clouds that do not twirl and dance with a wind that is not there but simply drift across a mirror sky.
The rocks that were once clouds but fell are gone and all there is are great, tall trees with pale green leaves that block the great white thing that lightens the mirror-sky from silver to blue.
I am laying on red and white blanket with pale face peering down at me, they smile and speak in strange voice that are too loud for me to hear but I give them a small, confused smile and this seems to please them. They turn to each other and say something that I do not understand, but that’s alright… I will someday.

“He’s so adorable! He has your eyes!” a woman coos to her friend, stroking the baby’s soft skin.
“I never knew that I could love such a small thing so much!” the other woman says, turning to her friend with a teary eyes smile.
“What do you think he’s thinking about?”
“Oh, probably the clouds and the sky.”
“You have a little prince on your hands, you know.”
“I know… and I’ll raise him to be a king.”