VampiresA Poem by Sean EatonVampires arrange moonlit picnics in the summer months, eating hearts on plates of silverThose night-hunters, vampires, unable to go out in the sun, arrange moonlit picnics for themselves on scenic hillsides during the warmer months, on the young and supple or ancient craggy hills of their grandmother Earth. They plant tall torches in the dry dirt in perimeter around antique Persian carpets, smaller candelabra placed on the rugs' centers, as stars burn overhead and the harmless moon, milky, obfuscating mirror of their destroyer, hangs its wan smile. They eat what small delicacies as they can stomach off antique forks and plates of burnished, scrollworked silver, hearts and livers, severed fingers, veins and arteries webs of lace, and listen to the crickets sing their rustling canzonettas, and feel the cool night breeze lighten the heavy, singing air, tickle at their hair and faces, as pearls of dew form on their time-worn, hand-loomed clothing and the folds of their skin. Their hands ruffling the wet grass.
© 2024 Sean EatonAuthor's Note
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StatsAuthorSean EatonVTAboutEmerging poet from New England, USA. Published 14+ times in first year, including Young Ravens Literary Review, Hawaii Pacific Review, Arboreal Magazine, and Stone Poetry Quarterly. Lover of art ci.. more..Writing
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