Friday, 12 August 2016


Bedevilled is the night

And I must feed

'Fore morning's light

My cursed state impedes.

Moon's silver fingers

Point me to the path

Where best my urgent need

Will fulfil its bloody task.

Once there my hungry eyes

See her young shape

I falter at my choice

Her life to take

But then the fiend within

Insists I must

Appease the gluttonous rage

Of my infernal lust

And so I softly glide

Towards the vein

That will rescue me

From conscience

Blocking pain

Which lingers still

In my dark and cold, dead heart

A remnant from my mortal days

Long past.

Poem only  © Copyright Lynn Gerrard