The Vampires Hunt

In the darkest of night, he arises with intent,
The vampire, a sinner, with no need to repent,
With skin as pale as death, and eyes that glow like ember,
He creeps through the shadows, as black as November.

With his senses heightened, he stalks his prey with ease,
A mere mortal, unaware of the danger that she frees,
Her heart pounding with fear, her senses dulled by night,
She senses nothing save for an unquenchable appetite.

He circles her, like a predator with prey in sight,
Her heartbeat pulsing in the dead of night,
He can smell her fear, taste her sweat upon his tongue,
As he moves closer, closer, to where she lies unhung.

With a swift motion, he takes her in his arms,
And whispers her name, with all his languorous charms,
She is powerless to resist, unable to fight,
As he pierces her skin, in that dark, fateful night.

The taste of her blood, a siren's call to his soul,
A darkness that consumes him, making him whole,
In that moment of feeding, he is both sinner and saint,
A creature of the darkness, with no need for restraint.

But the ecstasy of feasting is short-lived and fleeting,
For his thirst never ends, and he is forever needing,
More and more, to keep the darkness at bay,
In an eternal hunt, that lasts until the break of day.

So he roams the night, in search of salvation,
With nothing to guide him, but his insatiable temptation,
And the taste of her blood, still fresh on his tongue,
As he moves through the shadows, forever young.

In the darkness of the night, he is both hunter and prey,
A creature of the shadows, with nothing left to say,
But a simple, haunting whisper, in the depths of the night,
"Forever searching, forever seeking, forever feasting, in the eternal delight."

Thus spoke the vampire, a creature of the night,
Ever-haunted, never ceasing, in his dark and lonely plight.