Plasmana, the vampirette
was invited to the annual ball,
hosted by Count Shevesky who
was handsome and six-feet tall.
It was held in his castle high
where vultures flew nearby,
eyeing the guests with beady eyes,
waiting for someone to drop and die.
Women and their escorts dressed in finery
as they stepped out of their stately carriages,
the ball was a romantic setting for ladies,
who dreamed of proposals and rich marriages.
The ballroom was full of waltzing dancers,
women proudly wearing tiaras or crowns,
swept away with their charming partners
as their silk slippers peeked under their gowns.
When Plasmana entered the ballroom near,
the music stopped and not a hush
was heard from the staring attendees,
as her beauty turned hearts of men into mush.
After some time the music continued,
men kept staring at Plasmana the beauty,
all wanting to propose and love her forever,
overcome by a mesmerizing duty.
Count Shevesky stepped forward
and gently took her black-gloved arm,
he too was engulfed by her sensual looks,
totally smitten by her wondrous charm.
They danced all night and he was hypnotized
by her penetrating dark and beauteous eyes
as he held her tightly he wanted her as a wife,
totally worshipping her not knowing her guise.
The clock in the grand hallway struck midnight,
Plasmana's face was stricken with fear
as she fled from the arms of the Count,
running as if a hunter chasing a deer.
Empty arms and no Plasmana, the Count chased
after her through the massive front doors,
only to discover her empty gown on the ground,
and a vampire bat flying towards the moors.
Each year when the ball is held in the autumn,
Count Shevesky looks longingly at the front door
for Plasmana the most exquisite woman he knew,
wanting to catch her essence once more.
Friday, October 21, 2016
Topic(s) of this poem: fantasy