We walk the night

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
The day is to loud

Submitted: December 08, 2011

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Submitted: December 08, 2011



They groan under the light of day

It stings their eyes

Burning and singeing the skin

They are creatures of the night


People may say

Though they would not call themselves that

They have no immoral cravings

For human flesh

Or the blood

In veins fat with blood

They are creatures of the night

In only the sense that day deafens them

Makes ears and eyes bleed

With the non-stop bustle of the daily commuters

The smoke and dust

Of a thousand cars

On the motorway


They wish for the near silence of the country night

Fields of endless grass

And trees to sit beneath

Kiss and cry

An owl offers the soundtrack

Accompanied by

The occasional shotgun in the night

A cow in the field below

Such innocent sounds

Compared to the horns and the screams

Of the city streets


These creatures walk the day in sunglasses and earmuffs

They are not vampires

No seductive creatures of the night

Who feed of flesh

And have no sense of emotion

No remorse for those they kill

The night is simply their playground

Not their feeding ground


They have no interest in the clubs

Where the young people play

They find more solace in the parks of childhood

Where the drug addicts work

Though they ignore the shady deals in the dark

And the use of pipes and mirrors

A park is just a substitute for open fields


They sit on the swings that whistle as the wind acts the child

Speaking in whispers

They talk about their lives

Their loves

Wondering about joy that is the sun

Though they feel no jealously

The night is filled with delights

Away from the hot street lights


Death wishers

And those from the Goth scene

Approach them

Seeking the fever of pain

In the dark

Their ears are tantalised by the sound of tearing flesh

Blood running thick

With want of pain

Though their lust is not fulfilled in the park

And they leave

Bodies aching

Searching for the pleasures

That the pale ones in the park

Cannot fulfil


These creatures

Soft spoken larker’s of the night

Hide in the shadows

During the day

Loitering there like the scum

Though they do not associate themselves with that crowd



They groan under the light of day

It stings there eyes

Burns and singes the skin

They are creatures of the night


Some may say

But only in the sense that day deafens them

Causes eyes and ears to bleed

They seek a country night

Cold and quiet

Away from the hustle

Of the everyday world

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