The Vampire

In the cemetery, deep and dark, no sounds were heard, not even a lark.
The texture squishes; you sink in the mud.
Struggle, twist, bend, and free; continue on just to see.
Past the stones that are everywhere, something there: blood.
Splattered, dripped, smeared, and painted; all the dread, red, blood.
A sound behind, oh crud!

Something moved fast in the soil; slowly approached to see its toil.
Dirt flies pat, a body lies still, awaiting for the figure to burry.
Tall and pale, a trail of scarlet leads to him; a deep sensation from within.
Fright takes over, controls my scurry, must get away, must hurry.
The clichéd stick breaks in half, now I know I'll get his wrath, he must hurry.
I turn in time to face his furry.

I slipped through his grasp into the night, I turn to see, he's taken flight.
Past the grey, browns, and greens; statues stay still stuck in poses.
I turn a corner, and see him in my path; the blood, the dirt, he needs a bath.
In the blink of an eye, I change direction. Heading toward a bed of roses.
I trip, they pine and prick into my flesh, I myself stained with roses.
A sea of red just like Moses.