Epic of the Vampire: Canto V- Fabula

With all great legends

embellishments are  added-

just a grain of truth

to the liar’s sea.

So too the vampire’s story

changed with each telling.

Unable to pray

(For the Lord’s name burned their lips,

bitterness, their souls)

extends to the cross,

holy water, reliquaries.

Chastened by prayers,

victim’s devotions,

legends armed the peasantry.

Aversion to tastes

(strong herbs sour the lifeblood)

added to the arsenal

garlic- a weapon.

The castled hemmed in

by rapid flowing waters

another rumor.

Though they could not drown,

the waves battery was fierce

with no bridge at hand.

So moving waters

became the villager’s friend-

another roadblock

for night’s own hunter.

A stake to their undead heart

could end a vampire-

at least cause him pause.

A brick in mouth to starve him

in his mortal grave.

The bricks broke his teeth,

sometimes his jaw, pinning him

under the cold earth.

The prey turned to fight,

emboldened by these stories,

outnumbered them.

And so now the beast

was relegated to myth,

and he relinquished

his power by might

as the man who could not die

fled into the night.

Ev’ry so often

the monster walked amongst men

taking on a guise-

human in their eyes-

gaining trust, admiration,

accumulate wealth,

and they made him king.

A kind, cold monarch by day

holding power close,

hunting with new stealth-

an indiscreet prostitute,

or a servant child,

vanished in the dark.

As time passed and he changed not,

schemes were set in place-

an heir would appear

and the vampire king vanish,

power passing hands

between the undead

as an empire was built up

unbeknownst by men.

The enemy ruled

as the hunter was hunted,

it became a game

of cat and of mouse,

while the cat wore crowns.

A Tree

The body of Christ

is as a tree planted,

drawing sustenance

from His omnipotence,

life from above, below, beside.

Its roots lost to day’s light,

anonymous to those above,

anchored in time, from dust,

and to the dust returned.

The trunk- the tree’s legacy.

It has withstood time’s test.

Branches sway thither,

tossed by tumultuous wind,

each finger stretched,

facing Jerusalem,

Judea, Samaria.

Touching Rome, Canterbury, home,

reaching out to the ends of the earth.

Leaves and fruit fill boughs,

drooping to the ground

under the weight of bounty,

eager to feed people’s souls.

I am but a bud,

not fully blossomed.

I, too, could bear fruit,

or be blown away

by the storms of life.

Fed by those before,

clinging to my roots,

I take my place

and open up.

Epic of the Vampire; Canto IV- Venenum

The years passed along,

slowly, but surely crawled by,

and the immortals

continued their lives.

The darkness claimed their dear souls

as they sank into it.

Unable to think

of redemption from the curse

they became placant.

Convinced of their fate

they ruled the mortals with fear

and hatred blossomed

like a spring flower,

filling their whole existence.

They questioned themselves,

for what does sin mean,

when its your very nature,

an unchanging fact?

You kill for your food,

you feed on the unholy.

Evil fed on them.

That which made them man

trickled away like lifeblood-

compassion, mercy,

loving-kindness, faith.

Their souls became as their flesh-

cold, dead, frozen.

They yearned for something,

to feel human once again-

to feel anything.

Unable to die,

possessed of a half a life,

they cursed their maker

til anger faded

as despair shrouded their sight

and hatred was dulled.

How the years crawled by,

how quickly does dischord spread

among the undead.

They sought love in flesh;

new life unattainable

through normal methods,

even this lost charm,

in became vain and empty,

a passing pleasure.

How fleeting is lust,

how meaningless is pleasure

with its purpose lost.

An escape was sought

in drink- intoxication.

This- impossible,

when the deadened flesh

can feel none of the poison

imbibed as liquors.

There is no torment,

no torture, no power of dark,

no hell on this earth

quite like that they lived.

As generations passed on

and villages grew,

becoming cities

which then became nation states,

powers united

with other such towns,

the fortress sat unchanging,

claimed by deep despair.

Poisoned by the curse

which grew stronger as time passed,

with no redemption.

And the immortals

continued their lives.

Epic of the Vampire; Canto III- Formata Muliere

The serpent’s one wish

Was to share his punishment,

so he trapped the man.

And yet, as time passed,

Man fought the monstrosity-

he resisted it,

stopped drinking the blood

of all of humanity.

Remorse coursed through him,

he fled from mankind,

he isolated himself

in the mountains cold.

Like an animal

hunger drove him to madness

and he lost control.

He fed on man’s flesh,

yet he knew not what he did,

broken by the curse.

Thirst satiated,

he realized his new nature,

and despaired of death.

The darkness took him

and he gave himself over

to depravity.

The evil one saw-

content with his workmanship,

yet longing for more,

he searched for new ways

to scorn the Almighty One.

Parasitical,

he mimed creation,

took a woman, transformed her,

gave her to the man

to become his wife,

stay by his side to the end,

like Adam and Eve,

walking in Eden.

They wandered the countryside,

searching for safety,

for word had traveled

of unholy blood drinkers,

monsters, murderers.

Hunters were hunted,

mobs came for them with pitchforks,

weapons and torches.

They were feared, hated.

They fled into the darkness,

became part of it.

They were haunted by

all they had lost in the curse;

light and safe haven.

Highest mockery,

every detail Satan set,

merely mimicry,

meant to scorn the Lord-

how the favored had fallen!

The vampires fled

into the mountains,

the Transylvanian forests.

They built their own home,

stone by stone they built

a fortress in the hillside,

a place they could hide.

They built a legion

of followers when they fed,

stealing them away.

The legends grew up

around the inhabitants

of the dark castle,

as man and wife lived on,

unable to die.

Epic of the Vampire; Canto 2- Serpentum

The fallen angel

once shone brighter than any

like a star at night.

A prince in heaven,

yet he was a mere servant.

Pride stiffened his knees.

He was created,

and yet he lived without end.

Then God created-

created humans.

Created for God’s pleasure,

raised above the gods

made to serve the God.

The morning star grew jealous,

hatred grew its roots,

clinging to his heart.

The gracious Father knew this,

his heart broke from pain.

In mercy he called

his glorious one to him,

wanting repentance,

knowing he would not.

In hatred, the angel cursed

the one who made him.

Cast from the heavens

his rage he turned on humans-

feeble creations,

yet reflecting God,

those who bear his own thumbprints.

He soon determined

the best revenge be

by marring that image borne.

Sly as a serpent,

he befriended man,

drawing him aside in dark,

to strike the death blow.

Death, too merciful,

everlasting life he gave,

one not worth living.

Unable to speak

the name of his creator,

the word burned his lips.

Cast from paradise,

the angel grasped mankind’s heel,

like Jacob he clung,

dragging him to Hell.

He offered the forbidden

as the drink of life.

Sin would sustain life,

eternal isolation

without any rest.

Gleeful in his wrong,

the fallen angel rejoiced

at what his hands made.

He had made man fall,

unable to call on God,

trapped in the darkness.

Victory was his.

The fallen angel rejoiced

in his wrongdoing.

He celebrated

his revenge over the Lord,

or that’s what he thought.

He brought the long night

over the face of mankind,

the shadows were long.

He laughed at God’s face,

the one who created him,

he turned his back on.

Epic of the Vampire; Canto 1- In Principio

In the beginning,

God created the heavens

and man walked the earth.

He gave life, substance,

breath and shape. He imparted

His image on man.

God loved creation,

tended it and sustained it,

giving his own son.

Among the angels

one grew jealous of mankind,

and hated them much.

He plotted revenge

against God’s favored people.

How to make them fall?

This wretched creature

had no creativity,

he could only change

the nature of man.

“Blood is used for atonement,

ambrosia, life blood.

It is blood I use

to humble this creation.

Forbidden to drink

this drink offering.

I decree they will partake,

to sustain in death

a half-life in dark.

They will feel nothing but cold,

for breath will not pass

between their foul lips.”

Thus saying, he took a man,

wrought the curse on him.

Not dead or alive,

he preyed on blood of his kin,

his friends he drank dry.

A monster, alone,

but when he drank, he could feel

the warmth of their flesh,

their closest held dreams.

For a moment he was man,

only as he drank.

Revolted, he stopped,

refused to drink mankind’s blood.

In a hateful rage

the jealous angel

sent him into a frenzy,

taking his free will,

making him a beast.

Villages he would ravage,

man, woman, and child-

none were safe from him.

Yet the monster craved a mate,

as the years were long

and he could not die.

“It is good for him to have

one to hold, like him.”

The jealous angel

took a woman and changed her,

making a partner.

Because they lived not,

a child’s life they could not make,

child of their own flesh,

to them was given

the power to make others,

their children of death.

The fallen angel

did this to make mockery

of his creator.

Epic of the Vampire; Introduction

There once was a time

when we lingered not in dark,

where shadows cloak us.

There was once a time

when we greeted the sunlight

warm on living flesh.

That time has since passed.

This tale is of creation,

of our creation.

Readers will know us,

of the legends and the myths,

they will give us name.

We are the vampires,

monsters, the drinkers of blood,

chastised with sacred.