Monticello

From my novel "Sempiternus", I dedicate this poem to the character of Monticello, an Italian who was the worthy confident of Sempiternus.

For centuries I have serv'd him well,
As his servant and worthy confidant,
Enjoying the whims of time with him,
From the old days of the Renaissance.

'Twas the Renaissance, when I had first 
Met the master in those Venetian streets
Of that eerie and drear midnight of 1528,
When I felt his breath and his scent near.

He was a stranger that had follow'd me,
Onto a cul-de-sac with a devot'd consort
Whose name was Hadria, that woman so
Beautiful and yet, protean as the master.

That night I became the master's slave,
And now, I am a true immortal vampire, 
From the stately breed of the Demiurge,
Who roams enchant'd nights of pleasure.

I clearly remember that ominous night,
When I ask'd him who had convert'd him,
And who he was that the mortals rever'd,
As he sat in his palatial throne of Erebus.

"I command'd the bold legions of Romans,
And the manifold vampires who were born,
From my perpetual blood and my lineage
That have spread my seed onto the world."

Throughout all these years, he has spoken,
About the days of yore with such intensity,
And his battles in Caledonia and Germania,
Where the Dionysian winds blow his name.

"O wilt thou ev'er grew weary of me master,
And the abundant years of service?" I ask'd.
"Ne'er, thou art my faithful servant Monticello,
And we shall dine always with noble mortals."

Thus, I have serv'd him with the utmost regard,
And before each night he reads endless poetry, 
In remembrance of Hadria, queen of his heart,
Who the troubadours of Europe sung her praise.

His name is Sempiternus, the nocturnal master
Of human delirium, and my name is Monticello,
That worthy confidant of a preternatural being.
Alack! I yearn today, for those fain days of yore.