The Vampire, a poem by David Lees for Charles W. Cameron.


Night, the moon, the damp darkness will fall,
And the devil for his children doth call,
Slowly awakening within my tomb,
To face another evening of vampiric gloom,
I am a victim of circumstance, beyond my control,
The result of which, I have lost my soul.

Bursting from my coffin and rising from my grave,
A terrible thirst, it is the blood that I crave,
Burning from within, an unholy fire,
That does not die in the funeral pyre,
Condemned forever to wander the night,
To search for a victim and take a bite!

To drink up their life and swallow their blood,
And send them to Heaven and their God up above,
But then if he exists, I do not know,
For Heaven is a place that I cannot go,
Trapped forever on this earthly plane,
Bringing terror and death again and again.

AAH, but the pleasure of consuming a life,
Experiencing it's love, it's horror and strife,
The entwining of bodies the hunger and lust,
The piercing of fangs, the shattering of trust,
You had thoughts of compassion or warmth and love,
But I used and abused you and condemned you to dust.

I remember my life as a mortal man,
The streets and the playfields, where once I ran,
My family and friends, I held so dear,
Passed and deceased for many a year,
The world I knew, now all gone,
But this hell for me goes on and on.

The loneliness and tears I cannot end,
The savagery and killing I cannot amend,
You think me cold, that I care not the least,
But I am what I am, it's the nature of the beast,
AH, the temptation of succulent flesh,
Your life to drink, your souls to caress,
Orgasmic breathing the trusting of hips,
Your life is devoured by cold greedy lips.

The beating of your heart, a resounding roar,
Your physical demise - your spirit to soar,
The drinking of blood, the meeting of minds,
The taking of your life is truly sublime,
The flow of your blood, warm to the core,
Panting and heaving you beg me for more.

Like a thief, a criminal I stalk the night,
I care not for you and less for your plight,
I am a devil, a reaper, the face of death,
I confuse you with illusion, and take your last breath,
As your body falls pale, limp and weak,
Into the night I fade, a new victim to seek.

So listen my friends and hear what I say,
To primitive beliefs, attention you should pay,
My presence is real, but ignore if you will,
But I will be there as evening grows still,
Hunting in your cities, prowling your street,
In the dark misty shadows, one evening we will meet.

As the blood flows - from the wound at your throat,
I will laugh at your suffering, at your pain I will gloat,
As your body slumps, writhing on the floor,
Into the night I will vanish, searching for more,
Afterwards - the conscience, the guilt that I feel,
Yes dear mortal, my pain is real.

And so I survive due to your lack of belief,
Each night I suffer my own brand of grief,
You can escape by the back door called death,
Each night my lungs fill with unholy breath,
And so I go on forever and a day,
Wishing the grim reaper would wander my way.

There, I have spoken and said far too much,
This is my existence, and shall continue as such,
The sun now rises, your protector and kin,
It gorges my eyes and smoulders my skin,
Into the damp earth I shall now retire,
But I will return - for I am the Vampire.

© David Lees, June 1998


Gromit, Webmaster of  (now defunc) for allowing us to use the above picture. Adrian Deery, who was kind enough to send us the card in the first place!


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