The Evil That Walks Poem by Genevieve Lilith Vesta

The moonbeam stares down
as the carcass is slaughtered.
The witching hour of night has come.
Now is the time to perish.
The yearning shows us
no gratification.
All is lost to the shadows
of the dead.
The sacrifice still waits
for his sensual delight.
No one is to live
tonight.
The rot of the lifeless
has taken its toll.
The scatter of his blood
has filled the sacred bath.
She awaits in the mausoleum
her longing is holding.
The victim goes to his death,
an embrace of savage
ecstasy.
As the passion dies,
he meets an eternal rest.
The soul is held onto by
Satan’s hand.
The mortal remains decompose.
The apparition floats away.
He knows he must stay.
She had bewitched him.
He lost his soul to a
seduced passion,
a tormenting vex.
Now he walks during the
killing time,
looking for a woman craving
sensual delight.
Then he steals her soul,
so that he won’t
walk alone.