It's a lonely night with no love in the air;
Hopes and dreams disappear ;
Within the lonesome latter years!
A Dark Angel takes a stand to his dark throne,
Bewigged from what's right and what is wrong,
In veils, and drowned in tears,
A play of hopes and fears,
While the orchestra breathes fitfully
The music of the spheres.
Mimes, in the form of God on high,
Mutter and mumble low,
And hither and thither fly-
Mere puppets they, who come and go,
How everyone loves a Vampire show,
I paused and emptied a glass of the fame of
Blood at last,
At the bidding of vast formless things that holds
The night screams that sings in the darken winds ;
That shift the scenery to and fro,
Flapping from out their Condor wings
Invisible Woe of what humans don't know
They are about to lose their lost souls,
That motley drama-oh, be sure
It shall not be forgotten for life, years of my
Bight of the night with a Vampire Knight!
Salem's Lot never to end, It just gets scarier
Hear on end and you didn't hear me say a man!
Through a circle that ever returneth in
To the self-same spot,
And much of Madness, and more of Sin,
And Horror the soul of the plot.
This sort of thing doesn't happen much,
But when one sleep's you never know who is
Looking in, But see, amid the mimic rout
A crawling shape intrude your sleep and you
Cry out for help!
But no one hears a thing because for them
It was too late to awake ;
A blood-red thing that writhes from out
The scenic solitude!
It writhes !-It writhes!-with mortal pangs
The mimes become its food,
And the Dark Angels sob at vermin fangs
In human gore imbued.
Out goes one's life for the thief of the night
And, over each quivering form,
The curtain, a funeral pall,
Comes down with the rush of a storm,
And the Dark Angels, all pallid and wan,
Uprising, unveiling, affirm,
That the play is the tragedy "Man,"
And its hero the Conqueror of its fear of
The dreamers hear an end.
- Judy Emery © 1978
The Queen Of Darken Dreams Poetic Lilly Emery
