Blood Grave

Blood Grave

Clawing and scratching their way from the grave
The moon wakes them up, nightly flood
Turned into creatures, no morals, depraved

Lurking around they seek shadows and caves
Hiding in muck, filth and the crud
Clawing and scratching their way from the grave

Beauty's their weakness, it's all that they crave
They shun light, like a wilting bud
Turned into creatures, no morals, depraved.

Forever bound they are imprisoned slaves
Nailed in coffins, buried in mud
Clawing and scratching their way from the grave

Seeking the thrill of the hunt, they're enslaved
Undead beings, thirsting for blood
Turned into creatures, no morals, depraved

Nothing more than an anguished knave
The joy of life sucked dry, a dud.
Clawing and scratching their way from the grave
Turned into creatures, no morals, depraved

The syllabic count in this is 10 and 8.
To see how a Villanell poem is written, see http://www.writing.com/main/books/action/view/entry_id/332470.