A Poem To Entice, Words To Illicit A Response.

     Sleeping softly in the back of the mind, the demon lulls it's host. The power inside tempts the flesh. Beckons the thoughts to answer a deep calling. The demon wants to be accepted. It wishes to please. Through time and practice, trust is earned. The token held in the mind is spent on the simple desires in life. The demon knows well the expectations of others. It lies, it deceives. The sadistic feeling they enlist in the intentions of the host is unreal. With sweeping pains the bloods through the heart. An emulsion of strength wrapped in puppetry. They control from the farthest whispers of the subconsciousness, eventually forcing their voices into the foreground of the host.
     Simple sensations abound, the slick wet skin touches cold hair. Power is in the host's fingers. The darkness takes them. The soul is almost there. The preparation complete, the goal in sight.
     Tonight they will dine together. The blood has been quenched, sated. The acceptance has been made. The demon and host are one. The conflict is over.

Virgil Allen Moore

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Rain And The Demon Vampire In The Wind. A Tale Of A Demon Vampire.

As the clouds above him streak with flashes in the wet night. Rain cascades down, letting his skin feel the pressure of the weather upon the air in his lungs. The water reminds him of a time in which such concepts as breathing mattered. As he is now, nothing in existence can truly end his consciousness. Starvation, injury, sunlight, he is immune to all the forms that would otherwise end normal vampires. Despite his invulnerability, there will always be a thirst for blood. A knowledge that he needs it more than craves it. With it, he can end his torment. The thousands of years leaping from body to another, one age to another will end in satisfaction. Unlike the others, which have used their time to hone their abilities, to live out of sight, and to hide from the elders that once made them eight thousand years ago - He has gained the knowledge of death. A cruel teacher has allowed him to develop in a way that no other has before him. Through countless reincarnations, through grueling trial and numerous errors, he has accessed that which no other has. A secret in the gift he once had. The original talent that has become stronger than it once was, that has evolved into what it is.
     The rain reminds him, plays with his senses, recalling a day he was with his brothers so many lifetimes ago. The thoughts that flowed, the happy smiles that made their constant routine. If he had known, if he could have foreseen what the elders would do to him, to his brothers. The silence would have not been so loud as the blood filled his eyes, obscuring his last sight of their cold, dead bodies. That night he lost his family, his purpose for continuing. That night he gained a new path. A soul of vengeance welled up inside him. Telling him that with the time he has been given, there will be a way to make right the pain inflicted. To settle, to bleed the sky.
     Eight thousand years after that night. The rain still play with his mind. It tells his host of the sin, conveying the feelings of loneliness and lost purpose. Telling the new body he is in to join him, to rally with against the very elders that imprisoned him in a cycle of rebirth for all time.
     Tonight he will cry, the memory of the past pulling his emotions to the surface so that they may be washed away once again.

Virgil Allen Moore

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A Poem For The Fallen. A Set Of Words For The Last Of This World.

As the sky turns down another evening, a mind breaks to the silence in the loud room. She is lost, the first soul of the night. The rust on their hands penetrates the air. The gears have ceased, there will be no more blood flowing tonight. Their sad faces mirror the mood as they carry the body out. It will not be the last. The pulse of all attending is gone. She will be missed. Farewell, the sky welcomes you back. 

 Virgil Allen Moore

Vampire Alliteration. A Vampire Story To Remember.

So surely does the sweet sensual seduction of our simple successes in life leave us sparsely satisfied. The waywardly wonders of our youth wantingly wasted on whipples of whim and wisp. It is much more mannered to mask ones meek morals than to mistake a misguided misdirection for the misunderstandings of a masochistic mind. So rejoice! Reapingly raising your rash rails and reasons to the rampart of your ready render. Take the tapestry of your tales through to the temple that once trapped your twisted thoughts. Your soul is black. Blistering with the braille burned into a beastly body that beats with brutish behavior. I know knots kicking and kneeling, knifing their kisses with each knuckle. The pleasurable pain does plea and panic past the peak psychology and pounds us to play in our permeable prisons.


(Side note about the prose:) When you truly know that a vampire has too much time on their hands to wonder about the fine arts of poetry in the modern day. ;)

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Vampire Poem

My stars shine with red tint. Gleaming in the barren night I wait. The world around me slumbers. The eyes around me stare.
What a twisted life I drink to fate. Years past and summers fallen. The taste of the water I no longer care.
The food a shell, the texture bland.
What I wouldn't give for a beating heart strong in my hand.
The gift is calling, whispering tall promises in diminutive fashion.
I know my answer, I am ready for the fire.
My soul heavy, my aim true with fevered passion.
Tonight, I give back an heir which I am a sire. 

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