Ballad of the Restless Grave

It's cold and dark in the dead of the night,
I lay awake in my bed, shaky and white,
when all of sudden comes a fearful cry.

I reach the window, search a light,
Check the darkness with restless eyes:
in rags there she is, the woman of my dreams.

As she glances me back, my doom unfolds:
Just a look of her eyes, black and cold,
And I know I'll be her prey 'till dawn.

So I follow her, the long-legs female,
little bosom, skin so pale: easy sale
of anorexic meat, to me a fair treat.

I see her, innocent and mischievous,
blond hair, underaged harlot, ambiguous:
of hips and thighs, such a fierce sight!

We dance and toast, over stones and graves:
she offers innocent blood in plastic grails
and invites me in, sweet childish fiend.

She pushes me over a shroud of shades:
now my poor sanity is what she craves.
She knows my fear and makes it near.

I smell her sweet fragrance of corpses,
decaying bones, dusty withered roses.
As her legs are spread, I tremble and beg.

It's time, it's time: she pins me down
with piercing fingers, rotten and brown.
Her ravenous tongue has hit and stung.

She licks and tastes my bloody wound,
as she moans and rages without a sound:
no sigh nor scream breaks this morbid dream.

Faster, faster she stings, holds and falls:
in the aching chest, my poor soul rolls
and stumbles over my heart of lover.

Slowly I'm rushing into numb abysses:
sicked, my snake creeps and hisses
while she throws me into her burning pit.

I don't shout nor sigh any last goodbye,
as she capriciously violates the night
with her unholy cries, slashing me inside.

And with sweet, inconfessable delight
my eyes widen, roll and lose the light.
No tears are shed in the moment I am dead.

Before oblivion, the last thing I can see
is her grinning skull laughing down on me:
Death is so bright, past her flesh disguise!

Now I live no more: my days run gray
while bones and flesh rot and decay.
If you pass by, my friend, stop and listen to my refrain:

"Death is a fair lady: she falls in love
For everyone and yet for you alone!
Unfaithful and kind, she’ll wait for one night

Just to sing you a ballad of pain and agony,
just to bring down your human vanity.
And with her cold embrace, put you in a restless grave".

Nerio Vespertin is a restless soul and an enthusiast wanderer of the horror genre. And that's probably the best thing he could state about himself, because, you see, he doesn't really like to talk about himself or those phony things such as 'my career' or a 'my vision'. He loves poetry and he appreciates silence and darkness: that's all.

If that were not enough, he is an editor of Writer's Dream (an italian fiction forum) and in his free time he goes around cities, attaching random poetry to urban walls (it's actually a movement called MEP, or Poetry Emancipation Movement… yeah, I know: it's crazy).

Find more by Nerio Vespertin in the Author Index.

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