Sonnet for A Monster

No grave, nor casket, brac'd against my form
compels me out to hunt among the lost.
In wandering these streets and alleys torn
the deadly horrors nightbreed tolls a cost.

Fair maids and harlots all are made my prey;
delivered up to heaven by my curse.
No more the bliss to see the light of day,
transported to their hells within my hearse.

A lonely vigil kept for those now dead.
In waking, I make monsters of them all.
The blood which rules this heart has long been bled;
Fate's victims cannot move me from their fall.

I, monster, rue the day that men retire
the sport of Christ against this old vampire.

(Shakespearian style sonnet - ABAB CDCD EFEF GG)
for consideration in

ID: 1005610   (Rated: E) SHAKESPEAREAN SONNET CONTEST: Closed   Contest for Shakespearean Sonnets. by Mitch