The Pleasures of the Kill
by Michael Doyle

To be a vampire is to live a very long time.
You can spend this time in venal pleasure or sublime.
But either way, it is a counting of thousands of days,
And this time is best spent in as many ways.

Jealousy will not do anyone any gain or bring  good.
Of this much a love-torn vampire holds understood.
Still, there in the early days of hunting a kill,
There is hope that eternal life brings more than a thrill.

To speak the word that brings about one's death,
To fill it to the fullest and take one's breath.
There is nothing better than to spill blood afresh,
Pleasures of the kill compare to pleasures of the flesh.

In the end, what is any sin but the same as all sin,
The Devil thinks he holds the better hand and will win.
But when the end does come, will he believe it then?
It's a hand of cards only the wicked can win.

Crickets and katydids speak softly to the soul,
When the mud of the bayou squishes under the sole.
If only the vampire wishes his thoughts aloud,
To become human again would do him proud.

A little bit of bloodlust under the moonlight,
Makes a deviled man hungry to take another bite.
The soulless one walks without a sense of direction,
Knowing only what he feels with strong recollection.

Anger and danger are known in their savage traces.
It can be felt like power in low-born places.
But once the devil has known his full embrace,
There will be no more talk of things like grace.

(c) October 14, 2025  Michael Doyle
All Rights Reserved