Stake through the heart

 

Like a stake through the heart,

leaving that place,

the sea salt taste.

Whalebone arches,

atop hills where authors,

wrote vampiric stories.

dim lit alleyways,

little hideaways,

ghosts out to play.

Hidden from eyes that prey.

 

Over harbour we peer,

onto dark yonder hills,

where in fiction appeared

red eyes out for the kill.

The steps we did climb,

all one hundred and ninety nine.

Beyond the churchyard,

where weather worn graves lie,

under the ever watchful eye

Of the abbey ruins,

ravaged by history and the passing of time.

 

Sea mist,

flows like a cape in the breeze.

Pier side fog falls,

piercing the light.

Descending like a funeral shawl,

blankets the view.

How quickly darkness devours your sight

in the coolness of moonlight.

During the day - So colourful,

but so gothic by night.

 

Thanks For Reading,

Peace, Love and Poetry.

Kyle.