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This is a tale from long ago.
When people feared deeply what they didn't know.
It was a foggy rainy day in london.
The count brought his children here out of fear.
He knew with certainty that they would return to finish what they started.
They coldly and heartlessly staked his sleeping mate.
His childrens fate soon to be the same.
The tragic demise.
Days past, was a night the same as any.
The count would awake and take one child, to teach them the skills of hunting prey.
His wife and other child would stay at the castle hidden away.
That day unaware that they were hiding, laying in wait.
They broke down the gate and made their vicious kill.
The count left his beloved mate and daughter.
Only to learn when he returned his mate was murdered and burned.
His daughter hiding, traumatized after being exposed to her mothers violent death.
She knows the faces of the men that came.
The count over taken with rage.
Swore to revenge his mate.
Hate taking over, his plan began to hunt and strip them of life.
Turn their souls into the undead that walk the night.
Justice only will be done when each man has turned and become what they despise, hunt, and kill.
He purchased a townhouse in a remote part of town.
Settled his children in.
His search for vengeance begins.
Each night he hunted, looking for the men.
This night in a very dim pub, slouched over a table, drunken from ale.
He spotted one.
Anger surged though the count.
He approached the table sicked by the smell of stale beer and body oder.
The drunken man leered up at the count not showing any fear.
The count grabbed him up by his collar and lifted him from his chair.
His legs flailing in the air, and dragged him to the alley away from street view.
The drunken man tried with no prevail to fight him off.
But slow and drunk from to much ale, he failed.
The count threw him into the wall, he hit it crumbled, slid, and fell.
Biting his neck and drinking his fill, rage taking over, leaving the man half dazed, then dead.
The count bites into his own wrist and lets his blood pour past the mans lips.
Looking down at him in pure disgust he gives him one sharp kick to the ribs.
He no longer lives and will become one of the undead.
After many days passed, one by one he turned the men that cast such harsh judgement on his kind.
He has his revenge at last.
His past holding tales of hundreds of years.
Always deemed cursed, seen as a evil man.
What people don't understand, they fear.
He protects the children he holds dear.
The london streets he roams at night.
Those he chooses to feed from?
They all stem from the need to survive.
Vampires, not so different from mortal man.
Always contrived to be straight from hell.
But in fact, agony is something they know quite well.
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Self Made Poetry 2
PoezjaMy self written poetry, of different varieties. All writing is original, artwork is not mine.
