Blooding

This is a poem I wrote for a competition once. Several people told me it was good although I didn't think much of it, so I decided to post it. Feel free to add more lines, but please keep it clean and sympathetic to vampires.

People ask me

‘What is blooding?’

And I reply

‘Why, ’tis your turning.’

 

A human blooded, one of us

Seems surprised at all the fuss

Perhaps they did not stop to think

How few choose, quaff that one drink

The trickle running down an arm

Could do much good, or maybe harm

The slightest touch, on your palate

And thirst for more, you’ll never sate

 

People ask me

‘What is blooding?’

And I reply

‘Why, ’tis your turning.’

 

At that first drink, you fangs will grow

And half of you to us will go

But not until you try yourself

The salty taste of man or elf

Will you become eternally

A child of night, and kin to me

One of us, in blood and in bone

Immortal, but always alone

 

People ask me

‘What is blooding?’

And I reply

‘Why, ’tis your turning.’

Senses five do grow and are sharp

A mile away, a man plucks a harp

Reflex, speed beyond imagining

A voice to make the woodland sing

See in blackness, pupils feline

All yours, as long it has been mine

But never ask me, as many will

‘Can you teach me the bat-change skill?’

 

People ask me

‘What is blooding?’

And I reply

‘Why, ’tis your turning.’

 

Yet heed this warning, juvenile

Not all ’bout us is worth a smile

The sun burns bright, to our night eyes

Invites us up, beware, it lies

Garlic pains us, silver burns cold

A crucifix does vast power hold

Men will chase, over many lands

The one with love’s-blood-stained hands

 

People ask me

‘What is blooding?’

And I reply

‘A mixed blessing.’

The End

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