From 2009, a poem about the romantic image of the vampire.
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I shall drink, I think,
only that which is necessary
to keep me alive and humbled.
For were I to take my fill
I will, perhaps, be guilty
of taking your life, a wife
to such a creature as I am,
cold and condemned to a Hell
of the night where even light
has turned against you.
The irony is, I would be free,
empowered, my powers flowering
in the nurture of your lost future.
William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.