DESCRIPTION
This is another of my "vampire" collection which as you may have noticed is my preferred genre. Y? Z. Y? Because I gotta! The others you see below are part of that collection. But they are not collected; that's the only difference. A collection is still a collection if it not collected, is it not? Or not? Well anyway, here's about this poem - it is a vampire poem, a gothic poem, but it doesn't go on about blood and garlic, and why should it? This is a poem, like the others, about the inner conflict and torment of one who has sold himself to Hell. And I know; believe me I know. Ooh, and please mail me if you like, I love meeting new friends... especially if they bring me spiders (this is a joke - or is it....?) [159 words]
ABOUT
THE AUTHOR
(Call Me Pet.) Well I am.... me. No two ways about it, I am me, me I am. Not so old but nothing new, a little borrowed, sometimes blue. Just a person, slightly crazy, thoughtful, deep and rather lazy. Eccentric, timid, and fixated; feedback on this is awaited. [March 2000]
AUTHOR'S OTHER TITLES (3) Hands (Poetry) This is a poem about darkness and losing the light. It's kind of gothic I suppose. I have a liking for gothic. S'fun. It's a vampire poem. [173 words] Lunatic Prometheus (Poetry) This is about an event....a meaningful event, a powerful one, and a collection of thoughts and feelings. It has its base in my heart and Stoker for which I thank him. [145 words] Lunatic Prometheus - Reprised (Poetry) Ideally this should be read directly after "Lunatic Prometheus" but if not, well it doesn't really matter. This is a vampire poem, and a lunatic's poem, and it is written in his/my own words. [171 words]
I Ask For Your Forgiveness The Doctor's Pet Lunatic
For it all sweeps forwards. Every moment, each individual sneaking second, Following, following and following. When it comes, it stays with you forever.
Falling. It is like falling Into a twisted and roiling black sea of ice. The only difference here is that No one catches you, as you fall. The fisherman is gone.
When He speaks, His voice trips over me like song. When He weeps, I weep. When He is joyful, my heart rises as the wind in the treetops. When I am alone, He is there.
In the silence that escalates He comes to me. He is never gone. For all time and in every second, He waits there Within me, my soul.
Twisted black and turning Flaming like the water He crossed, the death He must have crossed. Believing and fearing, knowing That every dream is a wish for peace which never comes.
Will He leave when I am dead? Passed on endlessly from son, to son, to son. Will be beckon me to His Hell, suffering eternal for the sins of my father?
Or will He forgive?
READER'S REVIEWS (2) DISCLAIMER: STORYMANIA DOES NOT PROVIDE AND IS NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR REVIEWS. ALL REVIEWS ARE PROVIDED BY NON-ASSOCIATED VISITORS, REGARDLESS OF THE WAY THEY CALL THEMSELVES.
"Man, ur stuff gives me gooesbumps, u r great!!" -- Butaflie Works.
"Very good ... I have a 'taste' for vampires, as well ... you should check out some of my poems, as well as those of R Bennett Okerstrom ... I think you will find them to your liking" -- Judith Goff.
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