Rivers Of Her Soul

Book of poems

Bleed me,
she pleaded,
her tears flowed hot,
so river wild,
so river violent.

Take me,
she cried,
bleed me,
make my heart
as cold as stone,
as cold as ice,
I can no longer
stand the pain
of living;
and yet,
I cannot die,
I am too young,
I am too fair,
there's far too much
I haven't tasted,
touched and made my own.

Bleed me,
my lord, I beg of you.
I swear I will be true.
I swear that I will serve you,
gladly and with fervour.

I'll take my youth
and all my questions.

Through me,
you too will feel
alive again,
you will once more
discover how it was
when first
you saw the night,
when first
you raised your wings
and soared
into the singing,
into the radiance
that others
never could perceive,
I heard you speak of it,
I know your wonder
is alive,
my Lord, I beg of you,
take me this night
and bleed me,
bleed me,
make me whole.

The ancient vampire lord
stood still and cold,
in silent white of ages,
already did he know
that he would
take her tears,
that he would
drink her tears,
and leave her drained
but not of that,
her burden,
destiny,
the rivers of her soul.

Author's Note

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