SKIES WITHOUT STARS

I miss the sparkling of countess silver spheres,
Which reach us by traveling for hundreds of years,
But divine lady Venus, I miss you the most,
And count you the Queen of the Heavenly Host,
You always hide your face, from day light,
But here we cannot admire you,  even at night,

Time.

The early Victorian period is often romanticised in modern literature and film. The intellectuals in that time knew that their world was hellish and romanticised the medieval period.  Which was horrendous,  and in which people romanticised the classical period. In the classical period, they romanticised a Golden Age which may or may not have ever existed.

I pity the poor bastards in the future who will romanticised our age.

Seeing in mist and shadows,
Makes the stars shine brighter,
After lifetime's of darkness,
Endless evenings seem lighter,

Virgin lips and virgin shores,
Hold far sweeter treasures,
Than home's long open doors ,

We upon this Earth ,
Are born always to die,
Human Souls - like eagles -
Were made only to fly.

Moonlight Sentinel.

The stars are black,
And they are falling,

The wolf,  with distain
Is mournfully calling,

Unrequited luna love,
The Sky's unfurling.

Last Nights of Summer.

Bats in the twilight,
Butterflies of the night,
Dance in the bleeding sky,
Watching the sun die,

A gentle breeze dancing,
So silently hailing
The approach of thunder,
To strike all asunder,

Soaring before the tempest,
Smashing the night's rest,
Hammering the sky,
As lightning bolts fly,

Yet storms are healing,
Bringing one a feeling
Of peace, after rain,
Tomorrow, bats fly again.

Hungry

The Vampire does not care
For the clothes you wear,
Or the sweet smell of your hair,

Your beauty pleases the beast,
Lust, it feels at least,
Yet, 'tis hungry for the feast,

When it holds your body tight,
One thought fills its sight,
Your blood, alone, is its delight.