In the dark that fades the day,
Between the trees, I stalk my prey,
Shall be nevermore beautiful,
Than a midsummer day.
In the darkest hour of the night,
A rustle of leaves through your shivers of fright,
But it's just the wind, you are hopeful,
Subconciously, you know there is no change to fight.
Sitting in a tree, I watch your every move,
Your fear, I see you try to disprove,
I slide to the ground, graceful,
I advance quickly, you hear nothing to behoove.
I pull you back, expose your throat,
Fangs extended, as fast as an eighth note,
The skin breaks, blood gushes in mouthfuls,
Satisfied, I dropp the body with no tote,
No one will find the body, in a place so remote.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem