Vittorio the Vampire

I found this poem on a crumbled piece of paper. I shall share it with you. It's nothing much, and there is a reason why it was meant to be placed in the waste pile. Can you find where I lost the inspiration to find a proper ending to this thought?

Under the Moonbeam's story,
We rest in a motionless slumber.
Unprotected; without smoke screens
From the Ones awake.

Awake, yet dreaming in a reflection
Perpetual; to pluck alone along
As a single piano key composing
slowly out-of-tune until a dissonant noise awakens.

The Moonbeam takes its swandive
Breaking through, out of a foggy slumber,
Whispering its tender immemorial song:
Its story begins as a forgotten dream.

Blind and pathless onward down a narrow line
Dimming as it nears the dead, who lay sleeping,
The Moonbeam carries an ageless lullaby;
Falling, in an eternal bliss, muted on deaf ears.

This night I heard
The moon through the clouds
So full of life
In the midsts of lifeless clouds
Shining down upon the fields
On the waters, and on the graves.
In a half-smile, half-sad,
Age and cracked face--
Shining, for a thousand upon a thousand years
When it was young and when it was old.

Ho ascoltato nella notte
La luna attraverso le nubi
Ha avuto molta vita
All'interno delle nubi defunte
Lucidando giù sui campi
Sulle acque e sulle tombe.
In metà-sorriso, metà-triste,
In una faccia invecchiata--
Lucidando, per mille su mille anni
Quando era giovane e quando era vecchio.

At times it is too difficult to speak; one's voice falters and fails them. Nothing comes out; only silent nonsense. It defeats the spirit.

Would it exist to be better if I looked at you with my eyes? What would I see? I think you have changed; someone has touched you. I want to heal you; hear your pain. Alas, I cannot even speak myself.

I want to do so much more. I can say what is needed to be said, but is that what you want? I want you. In my heart's memory, I think you are still there; yet you no longer sing like you once hummed--slipping away again.

Would it suit you if I looked in your eyes? I would not see what I want; it looks like you are out of breath. Have you been running from someone? Are you trapped? Simply change directions, for I can find you again.

At times; this time in fact, I think I cannot speak. Instead, I will look into my heart, and ask why I have not changed.

I looked out my window on the world lit by cloud-filtered moonlight. All looked as a painting would.

Was I really here? Over all the trails that could be taken, I slipped into this whirlpool. Wide open, lay the "correct" path, but I chose the path of Love. I found my happiness, by losing something just as equal. It is said we cannot truly gain something until we lose something of equal worth.

In my time, I have found a new body and a new mind--leaving time far behind. My heart is fulfilled. Am I satisfied? Certainly, I hope not; a satisfied life is one worth placing on a shelf as a trophy: existence not worth living.

Writing over what has already been written, there is nothing I would want back--I cannot lose time searching for what I gave up. Instead, I am promised my truly beloved for all eternity.

I wish all are seeking their own happiness; I wish you health and happiness--within or without.

Alone and without you
In the silence of a Siren
This deafened lack of faith
In a place in which
The entire world is blind
To my last Secret Garden
In which Despair grows
And Hope lays in seed.

Yet in a moment's time
The feathery touch
Of the silvery Dawn glow
Sends into dreamless slumbers
The massless emotions of mine
In a panic flux, eternal,
In which Despair and Hope
Are one and the same.

A flower, once withers, will never bloom again.

Yet, it will bloom gloriously; only to die.


If the unborn knew what miseries we faced in life, they would not want to enter this universe. It is all a trick: we fall for it every time.

And if life went as we wanted it, then what? Where would that leave us? Would anything be any better? The only thing worth having is the knowledge that one will never learn anything.

A brief while ago, I thought about my life as it has been. The sadness, deaths, and the chance at a rebirth. How many are given such a chance?

Although, a curse is still a curse, no matter what coats it.

A thought that wanted a chance with words.

One Bemused Movement

On two blacks wings
It flew through the night
High above the trees
And far below the Heavens

With two black eyes
It watched through the night
Right through the darkness
And past the fleeting sounds

On two black wings
With two black eyes
Moving through a reverie
And holding back tears

It found a victim
And took a gift
That shines no more:
Vacant soul, diminished light.

As I am the one, destined from the start
Regrets the mistakes, but hope anew
To see past the Blood Life:
And the light of souls may I see blind ever more.

Thus lives life, until the end, without Heaven's light
Immortal lifetime of sin, crimes, and punishment
Many tiresome hours, isolated, withheld in toil,
I now resign these memories never more.

For pass a hundred years, a million days, or infinite hours
And the punished crimes live immemorial--
Before my eyes, the fading light of one's soul;
While I drink, un-atoned for my Sin renewed,
Flesh to flesh, my seeing eyes behold
Once kindred spirits, due to live no more.

My life as a mortal was brief.

But I did create a bastard son. The bastard son of a Prince. I sometimes wonder what became of him. Was his life like the masses and wasted away? Or did he make something out of it?

It makes me wonder. But the one thing this bastard child of mine had was the chance to grow old. Ah, but I feel not like writing upon my own miseries tonight.

I wonder what sort of man this child became. And when I ponder about his life, I also wonder what my life could have been like had the events of it not occurred in the manner they did so.

However without this Blood Life, I would not have my beloved Ursula.

Ursula: her name alone is soothing. For instance, right now, my mood was becoming melancholy. So, I will end tonight's post on a good note. My Beloved visits me soon.

What is it like to be alone?

I know what it is like to have loneliness.

Why is it that I want to be alone, but not lonely?

Perhaps it is my punishment for my Crimes.

The Blood itself is Sin enough. A Sin to follow me for eternity.
Immortality is nothingness...is not eternal...

Only loneliness is eternal.

Yet, maybe an exit will surmise?

Somehow as I sit at my desk in my fallen castle, I can sense something. Looking at the blank whiteness of the paper before me, I see words clawing at me--screaming “write me down!” But still, the words are not written and will have to wait for another day.

Outside this glassless window, a beautiful scene is framed by these stonewalls. An emerald green sea of leaves and stems glisten gloriously after being cried upon by the raging thunderstorm of last night. Soon, golden rays of the sun will cast shadows cascading on these stonewalls. My eye catches the dim yellow of a flower preparing to watch the sun rise.

Another grandiose day is about to begin and I must leave: to my Slumber I retreat.



In my Slumber, I dream of her. Ursula. Her hair reminds me of the sun; her eyes reflect the world before her; and her inner persona is enchanting. So enchanting—that is why I am here. My own inner weaknesses were my downfall and so I have an eternity to ponder…But she is here as well to live out to the final days of the earth—give or take a few centuries.

The beautiful moon sings a swan song for the sun. Luna wishes to dance among the stars again. Every night she smiles—her happiness is from within. The Happiness within. She does not know yet, but, her fate is the same as mine. Someone or something will come and destroy it all. Crush, smash, and obliterate. Everything will crumble and all left behind will be solitude.

Still there is hope for Luna, just as there was hope for me. Someone will take a look and come to shed light. Luna will always have her protector, her twin brother, Helios (the sun). Her strength can pull from him. In my case, I had no strength and ruined things to a degree. Disappointment aroused from those wanting to help me. It does not matter in the end. I still have ambition—faith—in Ursula.

Ursula makes the meaninglessness of eternity absent. I feel an uplift when I simply think of her. Her beauty and radiance is worth more than any moonrise or sunset. Our love is shared both ways and there is nothing in the entire world better. I can derive strength from her. From Ursula.



Yet, the sun returns to its home to allow Luna to rise. And I re-awake to write again. Yet nothing is ever written. Nothing is written and nothing is said.

Nothing.

One of these days, though, I will place words onto the paper and ruin its pureness. I will destroy its clearness and contaminate it with my writing. Satisfaction would arise and perhaps I would be happy. But Happiness is hard to come by: especially when one is the un-dead.

Oh beautiful Luna, Orion hunts for you. He will catch you. Everyone is always caught in the end. The mouse never wins. And yet, try! Run, scream, scratch. You will feel better once you reflect on how you tried to escape—as you are sitting in your cage. A cage of Eternity.

Oh, Luna.