Slave To The Night

A poem about the immortal life of a vampire.

These tormenting memories are never ending inside my head
my heart, once like a beautiful garden, has become a wasteland
my spirit, once so full of life, happy, and free
is now confined and dead
My love you have long since gone
taken by an eternal rest
you have left me here alone to face the awful things I have done
but your memory is a red rose in my wasteland of a heart
the only thing that is untouched by my own corruption
for now, we remain apart
I have become the very evil I used to fight
immortal, I am enslaved to the night
I am not human, I'm not me
a lust for souls and a raging hunger for blood feed an outer shell of someone I used to be
Images of the tortured lives I have taken remain here still
haunting me, enticing, inviting me to join them where they wait for me on the other side of the hill
Should I stay in the darkness which keeps me invincible, immortal, undead but not alive?
I'll wage war and meet with the souls in the light of the sun
I'll defeat the demon that I have become
I'll do right all the wrong I have done
And when the shell that is me turns to dust in the morning's light
no longer will I be a slave to the night