Count & Countess Poem by Victoria Annette Bailey

Hear the maiden’s cry, on barren land
Of losing everything,
Or the suicidal note
The cawing Raven sings.
Her apron soiled, with blood & tears
Fuelled on sweet despair,
The icon to, new sired souls
Stumbles down the stairs.
Leaving the church, she claws her head
The pictures won’t come out,
Because the victim is the source
Of constant, marauding doubt.
She pulls her hair, matted and loose
Trips on her ‘house-maid’ gown,
She sees police parked in the drive
Thoughtfully, she frowns.
Into the forest, the maiden runs
Lips parted breathlessly,
Vampiric teeth, in a soulless face
That grieves transparently.
Her lover wakes, unbeknown to her
Still she seeks revenge,
But he knows her mind and feels her thoughts
And sees his death avenged.
Running from, the sole reason
The maiden’s still alive,
She hunts the priest and his prejudice ways
Eternally she shall strive.
Billowing robes, symbolic collar
Smeared in icy blood,
He takes each step, his shattered breath
Evades the unvoiced wood.
The desperate priest, fumbles his way
He hears her tempting plea,
He hears the tone, mocking his faith
And runs from destiny.
She pins him down, laughs at his cries
Gains superiority,
Illuminated in the midnight sun
She denies empathy.
The maiden pants her fiery breath
And licks her crimson lips,
Brushes hair from his blessed neck
With perverse fingertips.
She plants her mouth upon his skin
And pierces his vein,
His body sways it’s final dance
Convulsing in pleasure and pain.
She drinks deep, thirsty for life
His widened eyes go blank,
Dropping his body, she wipes her face
And prepares for self-attack.
Clutching the stake, a steady hand
Holds undead suicide,
She races herself to plunge the wood,
Into her chest, to die.
Then a hand, slides into hers
The maiden turns and cries,
She cannot grasp, who’s standing there
Who’s come to save her life.
She drops the stake, and bows her head
Pulling her lover close,
Count Dracula and his Countess
A myth untold; to most.
Black eyes meet, electricity
Intertwine in a moonlit kiss,
He sees the priest lay at his feet,
And understands the twist.
Holy water, stake nor cross
Can separate the faithless two,
Forever in Vampiric love,
Countess and Count live true.