Dissidence

A hollow, broken Hallway opened dole

like echoes sounding off the ghostly pane.

Through cloth his howl died. Muffled by a pull

of air drawn taught so close to where she reigns.

Atrocity by lips alone had come

and sought alike the essence of his blood:

the pulsing hum akin to beating thrum

which builds a battered thought for stopping floods

of well and wanted breath between two lungs.

He drew away the pillow from his mouth

to look for eyes where burning hatred hung

behind the iris known so long in youth.

Sole darkness found oppressive means to choke

with hands whose reach in sightless mode took hold

of heart, his heart and with one final stroke

dissolved small ties with her who left so bold

in words whose fangs did suck the hopeful sight

of morrow speak to rest again by way

which known to kin their soulless bane by night

the drinker’s spoil rejuvenates their stay.

“She’s gone for good to make another heir,”

he told the blood stained pillow through his teeth.

The touch, so gentle on his neck just there,

where she had taken back the gift of teeth

and stole the essence of his livelihood,

still ushered forth the cold that held him in.

he placed his blood soaked fingers in his mouth --

And choked. And gagged. And spat. And gasped for breath.

“This is -- cannot be possible for me!”

His lips drew back in terror of the spoiled, 

such rancid, putrid, bitter taste a fee

for arbitrary words to be recoiled

as snakes, their venom pierced by fangs alone

to kill the living hopeful into cold;

but now the living blood flowed back to one

with warmth the pallor changing from such bold

and steely blues to match his victim’s hue:

pale white and staunch while screams escape the last

in breaths, he knew, were labored and so few.

He felt himself begin to slip ‘nto past.

Above the doldrum of his piercing pain,

the silent echo shuffled through the dole,

returned wholehearted, dripping from the rain

in darkest light she stood and feigned to pull

attention from his death to speak once more.

“How dare you question our laws eternal?

And question leaves you --”

“-- Give it back, you whore!

Before... before life takes me back with all

the beauty death holds dear!” He crawled toward

one lonely hope so shrouded behind eyes

held distant, cold and dead. She spoke one word.

He stopped, a wetted answer on his lips.

“I speak of what and want the sole of lies!”

“Enough! The sacrilege has done its worst

and never ‘gain shall you partake the thirst

and see the world with eyes that beg to live.

Your death is done, don’t think we dare to give

the lasting life to those who wish to rise

ever and more to stand beside the born

as master to their kind. It’s you despised

and we have made to teach a lesson: scorn!”

He let the limp take over entirely,

the slack of limbs a weight upon his world.

He felt the ending of the sand. Blindly

such sift did match the drip, drip, drip unfurled

into his sense of self and life returned.

Complacency begot his surrender

and, under stares from his creator, learned

his view of life eternal in error.

He whispered once as near drew farther down,

The hall stretched darkly as the sigh flew out:

“Forgive me, love.” The hurt fell through the ground.

He watched, saw her stand still, come close about,

diminish, far and small, kneel beside. Touch.

Such dark in hall replaced by one so fresh.

His warmth began to fade. She stood from crouch.

“Adieu, mon cher.” She turned from feel of crush,

though no escape would bar her dreaded dole

as shed in tears like skies beyond the pane

when ever soft her feet began to pull

and leave the damned, the dead, where once she reigned.