Blame Her Not

She was mortal and was loved, but fell victim to a darkness she had never known. Seduced away from her first love and enraptured by the force of the vampire’s gaze, she was bitten, and dying, came into the life of the immortal undead- and she knew it.

Her first love, from whom she fled, loved her nonetheless; and although he knew of her murderous and irrevocable desire for human blood, and although he knew the hideous secret of her new nature, his blame fell upon the thief who stole his mortal love away.



Blame Her Not

Can I cast blame for what she eats,
Or that she strolls where sunlight sleeps;
Or blame her that her skin is pale,
Whose lips are glist’ning red as ale?
Am I to cast accusing stares
And judge her not of wheat, but tares;
Or shun her for her blood-lust bent,
The girl whose ghostly heart is rent?

I saw her wand’ring in the chill
Amidst the fog and murky rill;
And starving- writhing there in pain-
She slipp’d into the town again.
Who knows where all that hunger led,
But townsfolk found another dead:
A victim’s corpse lay by the mill-
And yet I cannot blame her still.

-jwm

Sojourn

WHAT SAD departure must we know
When western sun with ebbing glow
Descends behind that mountain row
And ladens us with missing woe

We would that you should comprehend
That we indeed shall miss you, friend
Our thoughts of you shall never end
Whose hearts your way shall ever bend

Perhaps we’ll see you rising east
And meeting once again can feast
With wine and bread devoid of yeast
Where lambs lie safe with king of beasts

-jwm

Of the Poem:

Initially entitled ‘Three Quatrains’ only because an appropriate title eluded me. A friend suggested the above title- I liked it. It's original form was inspired by the departure of a friend.