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Wingbeats from a High Balcony

A tale or a dream
His other life seemed
As he slunk through the shadows of night.
Barely remembered,
That fateful November,
When dark swallowed all of the light.
The bite.
The pain spreading through him,
The poisonous fangs dripping red.
As twilight consumed him,
He looked at what doomed him,
And these are the words that it said:

Creature of night,
Take heart,
Take flight.
You’re free now to do what you will.
No morals, no life,
To live out in strife,
Your pleasure will come from the kill.

As he had been fated,
He gorged and he sated
His thirst on the blood of the living.
Warm, dark and red,
The innocent bled,
Unaware of the curse they were giving.
Unliving.
He longed for the killing,
And in each waking moment it grew.
The feeling of spite
For all that was right
As his soul frosted over anew.

So now in the dark
He waits for the spark
Of a life that is ripe for the taking.
He longs for the day
And he can’t get away
From a trance that’s not sleeping or waking.
Lonely,
He wonders if only
The kiss of the sun would bring peace.
And so, come the morning
Despite instinct’s warning,
He’ll lie down and hope for release.