Awake to the morning sun,
The star of fear rises,
Inside the eye of sure destruction,
Soundly put aside to savor,
Maybe for a rainy day,
When everything drips into decay,
Washing existence as we play.
The filth of humanity laces the sheets,
Stained a crescent red,
Another daughter turned up dead,
Killed by a martyr who knew the truth,
A motive to harm in a world of hue.
Blackened by an angels touch,
Its here the world shatters,
Vibrant yet hidden,
Like a virgin who slit her wrists,
Quickly avoid this memory,
It's contagious and I've been bitten.
Ian Robert Potapoff
This poem is about more than what words are written, its an expressive peice deticated to the myth and existance of such creatures and monsters as the vampire and werewolf. Although this peice is more about the effect these creatures had on humanity and scociety. If it wasent for them I wouldnt have had any childhood stories.
