The 5 winners of Vampire Poetry:

Child of the Night

“Fear is power,” the eldest did confide,
“Mortal minds with thoughts can bend;
Home is darkness, where I hide,
Every beginning must start with an end.
Touch not the sun, oh poisoned light,
But embrace the silver temptress moon;
Make your sanctuary the velvet night,
The wolf’s howl is your mother’s croon.
Blood is wine, flesh divine,
Nary a prayer will halt your will;
Garlic, silver, nor holy sign, --
Only the sun makes your blood stop still.
So be wary, child of the night,
Let no mortal know of your bloody endeavour;
Sleep with the rising of the sun, tainted light,
Safe with the thought that you’ll live forever.”

Written by [FetishFaerie]

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It seemed like a good idea at the time

It seemed like a good idea at the time,
the immortality, the eternal youth.
My mentor reassured me with her crimson lips,
her caresses, her murmured endearments,
all the while stroking my beardless cheek
with her blood-red nails,
nuzzling my pulsating throat,
‘You will be mine, forever.’
And then she sank her ivory fangs into my neck,
and drank deep, deeply, deepest,
drawing out my very soul.
That night I died, only to be born again
by the light of the next rising moon.
No Christ figure I, never again would I set foot
in a house of worship or defile a temple of faith.
The daily company of men was forbidden me;
I sought nightly those of my own kind
and those foolish enough to venture forth,
becoming appeasement for my unceasing hunger,
my insatiable lust for life.
Time passes, the world changes,
mountains crumble, oceans rise;
I remain the same.
I do not change, I cannot die;
my mentor’s words were spoken in truth:
forever young, forever untouched by the passage of time.
Everyone I know, everyone I ever loved is dead.
No one loves such a one as myself.
You cannot see me, as I stand behind you
while you brush your golden hair,
paint your perfect lips,
not reflected in any mirror,
unfelt by your beglamoured senses.
Your beauty, your innocence, are all that I crave,
yet what I desire most is your death,
to drink in your essence, your soul,
to feel the life pour out of you,
to hold you tenderly as your veins empty into mine,
to watch fondly as your rosy glow is replaced by an icy pallor.
And yet with your death I am deprived of your life.
The warmth I would swallow, the blood
filling me with your essence, your very soul,
will in turn guarantee that I shall never have you again.
I wait for you to unclasp the heavy silver chain,
the one that encircles the throat I yearn for,
that keeps me from reaching out and touching
the very thing that I desire most,
and pray that you do not.
Yes, it seemed like a good idea at the time.
But now, as I cannot have your death,
I desire my own; and yet, I cannot die.
I cannot die.
Written by [Priscilla Primkin]

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Blood (The complaints of a vampire)

It makes me feel good
It makes me feel great
It makes me feel satisfied
It makes me what I am
I have mine
But yet I prefer yours
I have more than enough
Running through my veins
Yet I can't live without yours
Why was I made this way?
With sharp piercing teeth
For piercing and sucking
I wonder what I am
Beast or man
Blood! Blood!! Blood!!!
I wonder why I like it
It makes me feel real Good
It makes me what I am

Written by [Lakayana]

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Quick Guide to Vampires

If you come upon a vampire,
Better not poke him.
If you can’t help it,
Don’t further provoke him.
And if you do,
There’s no hope for you,
Because when they’re mad as heck,
They’ll bite your neck.

Written by [Mortified Penguin]

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Wingbeats from a High Balcony

A tale or a dream
His other life seemed
As he slunk through the shadows of night.
Barely remembered,
That fateful November,
When dark swallowed all of the light.
The bite.
The pain spreading through him,
The poisonous fangs dripping red.
As twilight consumed him,
He looked at what doomed him,
And these are the words that it said:
Creature of night,
Take heart,
Take flight.
You’re free now to do what you will.
No morals, no life,
To live out in strife,
Your pleasure will come from the kill.
As he had been fated,
He gorged and he sated
His thirst on the blood of the living.
Warm, dark and red,
The innocent bled,
Unaware of the curse they were giving.
Unliving.
He longed for the killing,
And in each waking moment it grew.
The feeling of spite
For all that was right
As his soul frosted over anew.
So now in the dark
He waits for the spark
Of a life that is ripe for the taking.
He longs for the day
And he can’t get away
From a trance that’s not sleeping or waking.
Lonely,
He wonders if only
The kiss of the sun would bring peace.
And so, come the morning
Despite instinct’s warning,
He’ll lie down and hope for release.

Written by [Maeve104]