The terrors of a blood Queen.. Portraiture of a crippled moon, hanged forlorn and dreary, Casting shadows forth to hide, The scorn of man so eerie. Moonbright fell with gleaming might, To lick the lands with streaming light; Smelling the words of a strange new sorcery, Hypnotized by murderous debauchery... - For on those nights in the winds so cold, Evil prowled through the streets so bold. Lunacy unfathomed, Turmoil of the maddened... Neither knife nor the pen, Bared match for then. She was a crooked old crow, scheming all to death row. Just wanting to see, how the world burns. - Tall tales of vampiric aristocracy spread rumor to homes of many a wench. Spake stories of Queen Bathoria and the glorious chambers to secret her stench; "She tasteth of torture, your flesh and of all abominable lusts..." "Before she goes for slaughter, To bathe for beauty within your blood." - Ages grew by, as the sly grew wise. Her dagger, her hungrily hissing phallus. To draw from the skies, In ancient rite. Power to her wicked Malice. - Fearful they were, Of a haunting witches curse, So they 'spared her life,' 'Banishing her for good.' Confined to the castle tower... In 'misery she did lie,' Within fever of old memories, Till she 'starved herself to die.'

Fruits of thine intimate garden.

In very few words one could compare, The pit of chaos into which we stare; To be just as Rome in all her glory, Her historical edifice doth tell this story.

Poetry about Bathoria