Skulking through the realm of night,
ribbons of mist spiral up from the road,
at moonrise, like a thistle cold bites.
The veil of darkness blinds all from sight,
where entities known, across the hills strode,
skulking through the realm of night.
Forever bound to dread mornings first light,
remiss of penance that could be bestowed,
at moonrise, like a thistle cold bites.
An ancient curse decry the villagers to plight,
of man’s descent from the wolves fold,
skulking through the realm of night.
Bloodlines past on through a lusty bite,
to the unwary traveller into the dark he goes,
at moonrise, like a thistle cold bites.
Stalking its p
I was strolling through the garden
of a house made of crystal
when I stumbled upon a bed
of gorgeous glass roses.
Carefully, I picked the tallest one
and held it against the mid-day sun
which was beating down on the garden
made of colored glass.
It was so pure and beautiful
with its petals
fashioned with great care
I loved the way it caught the light
and its colors sparkled against
the bright blue sky behind it.
It was so perfect and graceful
that when I realized it would never fade
or wilt like the roses I had held before,
I almost wept with joy.
With the wind at my back
and the silken grass at my feet
I gripped the rose tight
and kissed it
The Vampires' Moon
The moon, blood red in the starless blanket of darkness.
This is the noble vampires' moon, the night of blood.
Blood as pure as an angels. Sadly this angel lost it's wings.
Now the angel must grow them back, one drop at a time.
My angel who feeds the monster of the night, the dark angel.
On the vampires' Moon, an orb of blood in the dark.
So the angel will suffer for others' sins and grow wings.
Wings that heal and harm, like the vampier she serves.
On the vampires' moon, ball of hate in the darkness of night.
But do NOT pity the angel, pity the vampire. It is evil beause it must be, but this angel will soon find it's God o
Blood are bond
Death your love
Hate my truth
Love are shame
Life your pain
Light my shadow
The lights true shadow is only tainted hope.
Are hope is the darkness of pure love.
Pure love the mith of two humans alone.
Alone true pain and suffering of the soul.
Soul a bond of good and evil of lights shadow.
((this one was for my ex before we broke up))
-I, Amie Mourna take no credit for this poem, it belongs solely to Moon.-