night steals upon us
night steals upon us and the dracula stirs from his exile of foul forbearance, thirsty for life as he dusts off the cobwebs of past discredit, the darkness visible burying the stain of his unremembered crimes. night steals upon us as he strides forth upon a reeling land, upright and brazen at the behest of just retribution, his swaggering pulpitry unthinkable under lucid ray of day— but dusk galore, the fog of war, portends his resurrected reign and the passionate parasite of his soul in sight of coming blight sings, Carpe Noctem! Seize the Night! night steals upon us as his unwitting minions carpet the earth red for his imperious arrival, the atrocities of the self-righteous, the butchering of whole families in bed, the felling of neighborhoods, the bombing of hospitals, the horse-trading of innocents in a rising tally. night steals upon us as the dracula swoops through this starless gloom aroused by the spilling of life, this jamboree of death, for whether by intimacy of hand or dispassion of cockpit, blood is blood, a neck is a neck— brown or white, black and blue, it always runs red. night steals upon us and the dracula swoons to his feast, not as we sleep but as we recoil and rage at the snuffed lives, the charred cherubs. and who would not? who, pray tell, would not? just beware the dracula for this is his moment to come in and it is ours to keep him out. alas, night stole upon me for I took the monochrome path of hate. the dracula furls his cloak of wings, pierces my neck with discrete expertise, and sucks away unattended, unobserved, softly, soundlessly, feeding all he can on budding life before the torch of dawn repels the zombies of lurching minds to reveal him as just another vampire, just another soft man with a hard heart, weak and thirsty for regard, whose power and glory resurrects only in our blindness. day now breaks upon us too late and I– I, who was wanton in my raging passion, who submitted to my meanest demons, who hardened in my grief and let breed the monstrous spawn of bloodlust— I sit up, squinting at the glare of sunlight, rubbing my neck, drained, pallid, but mostly just thirsty.
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