Elihion Longtoes Poem Page

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(This is more a monolog than a poem).

Blood Warning...

Somewhere between dark and light, day and night,
I hang suspended. Waiting. Hurting. Needing...

              -=< FEED >=-

The last three nights I have fought the Beast,
needing the sustenance of blood, but knowing
that another must die that I may live...

             -=< FEED >=-

And now, with the last rays of the dying sunset,
I realise that I can no longer tame him, the
animal that rages inside me... Tonight, I must...

             -=< FEED >=-

Unlike my brethren, I cannot dally amongst men,
in the fleshpots of London. Painted doxies, easy
targets. One slashed wrist, a swift slaking, and
the body left for the Constabulary to claim as yet
another of 'the Rippers victims'

  -=< FEED >=-

No, my bloodline denies me the easy life. Shunned
by any of my peers, on the orders of our Prince,
marked 'Caitiff' for fighting the urges others
see as their right.

  -=< FEED >=-

Yes, yes, I hear... She is drunk, the blood in her
will flow thin, alcohol tainted, but non the less,
she will bring me to another night... Quietly now,
lest others follow her.            

 -=< FEED >=-

Muggers, pimps, the scum of mankind, but best
not to be seen, even by their ilk... For when there is
outcry amongst the flock, the shepherds know, and
my end would be swift if my brothers were to find me...            

 -=< FEED >=-

It is done. I will not speak of it, nor taint your hands
with my deed. Enough for you to know that I have
fallen to the cravings of my beast and cannot be trusted.
You may be next... for when he commands, my body is
not mine to control...

              -=< SLEEP >=-

Go, fly, take nothing but your life... Only remember
this, dearest one. Once, this rotting shambles that
was a man loved you, held you, and placed your needs
above his own life.

             -=< SLEEP >=-

No, do not turn. You will come back, and perish at
my hands, a torment for me to relive every day of
the Eternity ahead of me...

             -=< SLEEP >=-

If ever your name is called from the darkness, or perhaps
you imagine you hear my voice, run again, and swiftly.
Seek holy water, garlic, bright silver. Wear them always,
and never walk the dark streets alone, for I will be your
death...            

 -=< SLEEP >=-

By mine own hand, this 15th of June, in my lords year 1839.
Paul of White Fields.