Shadows Of The Carpathians a Gothic Cycle Inspired By Dracula Poem by Marius Oosthuizen

Shadows of the Carpathians
A Gothic Cycle Inspired by Dracula
1. The Castle in the Mist
Upon the spine of the mountain high, Where storms crawl slowly across the sky, A castle rises from ancient stone Like something the earth disowned.
Its windows stare with hollow sight, Watching the valleys drown in night. No candle burns, no fire glows— Yet something wakes when darkness grows.
The wolves below lift mournful cries, As fog drifts pale through broken skies. For in those halls of dust and dread Walks the ancient lord of the dead.
2. The Undead Lord
He sleeps by day in velvet gloom, Within a silent, crimson room. No breath he draws, no heartbeat near, Yet all the living feel his fear.
His eyes awaken with the night, Twin embers in the candlelight. The centuries cling like shadowed dust To lips that hunger, pale with lust.
Kings have fallen, empires gone, Still his dark reign lingers on. For time itself cannot command The hunger of the vampire's hand.
3. The Hunter's Road
Across the frozen mountain trail Where moonlight turns the forest pale, A solitary figure climbs Through whispering woods and ancient pines.
His coat is worn, his lantern thin, But faith and iron burn within. The villagers pray he will succeed— For he alone will face the fiend.
Silver cross and sharpened stake, Tools no mortal wish to take. Yet onward still his footsteps tread Toward the castle of the dead.
4. The Midnight Flight
The bats take wing when night grows deep, From towers where the shadows sleep. A thousand wings in silent air Circle the castle standing there.
Through valleys drowned in silver frost They search for souls that wander lost. And somewhere in the drifting gloom A pale face rises from the tomb.
No door can bar him, none can hide From hunger walking at his side. For darkness is his ancient throne— And night has always been his own.
5. The Last Confrontation
The iron gate screams open wide, As storm winds lash the mountainside. Within the hall of dust and bone The hunter walks at last alone.
The vampire waits in shadowed grace, A smile upon his ancient face. Two figures stand in candlelight— One born of day, one born of night.
The stake is raised. The thunder cries. A flash of steel beneath the skies. And when the dawn breaks cold and red The mountain whispers: He is dead.
Yet in the wind, the wolves still call… As if the darkness waits for all.