Cold Blood

Cold Blood

Fear has made your blood run cold,
a Gothic tale in days of old.
In the shadows, out of sight,
silent death will stalk the night.

Victims he'll pick while they sleep,
he hunts the halls of this keep.
The thirst for blood is on his tongue,
a special taste for the very young.

His hungry fangs will find their mark
in the quiet of the castle dark.
He'll sink his teeth right to the bone,
screams unheard, you're quite alone.

The master killer of bloody trade,
a pact with the Devil, he has made.
His thirst for blood unconstrained,
an appetite free and unchained.

The story's written in rivers of red
the characters forever bled.
Through eternity the master walks,
ever hungry, Count Dracula stalks.

© Copyright 2005 T.L.Finch (UN: t.l.finch at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
T.L.Finch has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.