A Sense of Loneliness
by Michael Doyle

The strange new thoughts are invasive.
The changes to what life is are pervasive.
One must be careful out on the street,
Especially of who one decides to eat,

To keep things in the superlative, 
One must never eat a friend or a relative.
It is only those that no one will ever miss.
That will receive that final vampiric kiss.

Life is filled with a cold sense of rage
That is seldom written about on the page.
But more, there is a sense of loneliness
And it bleeds the path of this cold emptiness.

Every attempt is made to keep life pro quid.
The reality is that all around is now liquid.
The values a man once held are void, and soon gone.
And the loneliness rages on and ever on. 

Feelings such as love are an unanswered question.
The search for a suitable lover holds hesitation.
Who would want to live forever, seeing loved ones die?
Unquenchable is the thirst making the vampire sigh.

Still, it is that music pierces even jaded souls.
The mastery of this art whispers of universal control.
There is something in a well-written piece's majesty
That fills even an immortal soul with beauty and legacy.

The hunt is on as the curtain falls like a guillotine,
Death, it seems, is the dark dream of every living being.
And when life has come to be held in vapid disdain. 
It cannot be long before the grasp on such life is in vain.

Death in all of its tender beauty is something to behold,
This is the truth that the maestro allowed slowly to unfold.
As drop by precious drop, the victim's life drained to feed
The visions of a vampire feeding with vision, not greed. 

The end of life can be a studied meditation of impunity,
The release allows the sufferer his moments of dignity.
The human moments of tangled imperfections play at the heart.
It is these that make life, living, and undead, a work of art.

(c) October 9, 2025   Michael Doyle
All Rights Reserved