Inheritance

Inheritance

I felt the storm in his whisper.

The blackness in his blood, a drug,
A luscious bitter and delirious garden,
Manipulating my will.

Creating visions of sordid lies of love,
Lusting for my death.
Frantic for me to worship him,
With an absurd symphony of passion and moans
He floods my weak and delicate will.

Urging me into his lying, loving arms of death;
He, drink from the blood lust that chains him to the life of the dead,
Captures me fully.

I am in madness.
I am empty in this void of death,
With him, lying in the dust.

The unending thirst for blood
The quest that is now mine to endure
To tempt my treasure of souls to the deadly delights of my garden.
To gather them to my breast as children,
To lull them into eternal sleep, as babes,
So that I may survive.

So precious a treasure is man
But ashes to ashes is there beginning and end,
And eternity unendingly beckons me on into the night
To start all over again

Into the blood and dust,
Eternities upon eternities of innocents lured to the garden of the dead.
My garden.
Held close to me as the precious treasures they are
Destined to become the dust in which I lie.

Our inheritance for eternity.