There is a pride within that countenance
deep through the layers
one by one
Peel back and see
those dusty layers
aged thousand moon
and solo sun
The fire once roared behind his eyes—
a glow that stoked that stove called life—
The only one there
cold, yet bright
that glistens in his victim’s strife...
The thinning cheeks
handsome and exotic
they were once full
and now too thin
Oh, say how long the life-blood fills them
before he musts to hunt again?
And what of his soul...?
Has’t long been buried
with that corpse ignored by death?
‘sit merely suppressed
by ancient longings
or kept warm by Beelzebub’s breath?
What were his motives long ago?
And did he take this road by choice?
He can’t remember
how it was...
just something there...about her voice
And so he sits and stares by candle
while out the eve is cold and bright
by Lilith’s eye that marks his progress
down the spiralled stairs of night
The pride is false behind that countenance
A spark alone
A single star
that burns and smoulders
vain and hopeful
one thousand moon
and single sun
For once it filled its fleshly home
with that conflagration known as life—
bold and brazen
full of fire
hot and bright
piercing darkness like a knife
But now there’re fangs
long and exotic
They once were soft
and now too sharp
Oh, say how long the blood does stain them
before they still the victim’s heart?
What of his face?
Should’ve been buried
and rotted with that quickened corpse...
Is it the same
as was in true life?
Greyed with sadness, blued with remorse?
Who was his sponsor
Who forced him to the path of dark?
He can’t remember
who it was
Upon his throat he feels her mark
And so he sits and waits by candle
patiently now for the next to come
A child of Eve, the bane of Lilith,
his way of taking out the sun.