Crimson Dove

Through the grime-streaked panes I peer each night, At the ruins that brood in shadow's light. Where ivy claws at stone in a vain attempt, to drag the old walls down to dust's lament.

No candles flicker in broken arched frames, no footfalls echo down winding lanes. Silent it stands, a tomb for lost souls, Its secrets locked tight in crumbling scrolls.

Raven locks tumble in waves down her back,

Lips red as rubies in the gloom's fading track.

Voluptuous curves are shown by her dress,

As she walks with a grace I strive to express.

Who is this creature of darkness and dreams?

Her beauty enthralls, her purpose unseems.

I watch transfixed as she enters the door,

This specter of night who I long to know more.

Her presence stirs thoughts both lurid and deep,

As mysteries gather where old secrets sleep.

What brings this woman of shadows to call,

On the ruins that have stood empty for all?

Each night as the moon climbs the inky sky,

I dream of the woman who haunts my mind's eye.

Her pale skin and raven locks call to me so,

As through the ruins her shadow seems to flow.

I see her gliding down cobwebbed halls,

Her footsteps echo on crumbling walls.

Fingers trace patterns in layers of dust,

As secrets long buried begin to rust.

She turns, eyes finding mine through the dark,

A smile curves lips the color of spark.

Beckoning me closer with a porcelain hand,

As mysteries deepen in this shadowland.

I wake with her kiss still warm on my lips,

The taste of her lingering as vision slips.

Alone in the night with longing aglow,

I put dreams into verse, my passion to show.

In inky strokes her beauty I portray,

The longing she stirs I cannot allay.

This raven-haired siren who haunts my each thought,

In dreams and in poems, to me she is brought.

So I'll watch and I'll wonder each night that passes,

This specter who in mystery shrouds and amasses.

The dreams she inspires with visage so fair,

Are the fruits of a longing I haven't dared share.

The nights draw in as autumn fogs descend,

Blanketing the town in a shroud without end.

Through the mist-wreathed panes I peer each eve,

At the ruins where candlelight seems to weave.

Flickering flames dance behind broken glass,

As the hours slip by and shadows amass.

I watch transfixed by the glow within,

The woman it seems is a prisoner to my whim.

My thoughts grow murky as fogs cloak the earth,

Mirroring the haze of my feverish dearth.

Obsession takes root and begins to unfurl,

For the pale beauty who haunts this decaying world.

With each night that passes my longing increases,

As through the mist her shadow releases

Glimpses and mysteries that stir my dark muse,

As the ruins hold secrets I long to peruse.

So I'll watch and I'll wonder till dawn lights the sky,

This specter who stirs both dread and sigh.

As fogs veil the town and shroud vision's eye,

They mirror the mists that in my mind cloy.

As fogs linger and nights grow ever long,

Dark whispers spread through the town's throng.

Tales of horror that chill to the bone,

Of victims left pale and alone.

They say a girl wandered the mist-veiled lanes,

Never to return to her loved ones' domains.

Found in a ditch drained of all lifeblood,

Skin white as the mists, a visage too crude.

More women go missing beneath the moon's glow,

Left as corpses drained of all flow.

Puncture wounds mar pale throats so fair,

As terror takes hold with no mercy to spare.

Suspicion and darkness now shroud the town,

As superstition weaves its murky gown.

They whisper of monsters that stalk the night,

Preying on maidens beneath the moon's light.

And I watch from my window as fogs drift past,

Wondering what evil stalks nights that last.

For the killer still lurks in the mists' veil,

Leaving pale victims on the moor's pale.

So the ruins stand silent as shadows descend,

While in the town below a dark legend takes hold.

Of a monster with fangs that drain lifeblood away,

On the murkiest nights of Crimson array.

Through the mist-veiled panes I watch each night,

As candlelight flickers within her plight.

While whispers of murder now haunt the town,

Suspicion begins to shroud her renown.

Could this specter who haunts my dreams of sin,

Be the monster that stalks beneath the moon's pale skin?

Her beauty enthralls though dread lingers too,

As mysteries deepen of ebony hue.

Desire and revulsion now wrestle within,

As obsession's roots tighter begin.

She stirs thoughts both sacred and profane,

Awakening passions I strive to refrain.

I know I should shun her dark siren's call,

Yet her allure holds me in thrall.

This raven-haired muse who haunts my each verse,

In life and in death she has won my perverse.

So I'll watch as before with longing aglow,

This woman of shadows whose secrets now show.

And I'll write of her beauty that chills me to the core,

This spectral siren, my dark lady of yore.

Again I gaze through the mist-veiled glass,

As night's shadows lengthen and hours amass.

A figure approaches the ruins aglow,

A man stumbles, ensnared in her lure's throe.

She beckons with porcelain hand outstretched,

Leading him into her lair's depths bereft.

The door swings shut, an ominous sound,

As within her domain terror is bound.

Then a scream pierces the shroud of night,

A cry of agony, horror and blight.

It ceases as swiftly as it began,

Silence falls once more on the bleak lan'.

My worst fears are realized in that cry,

This specter is death, as the hours slip by.

Yet still she enthralls with her dark siren's call,

Though I know she means nothing but fall.

Dawn light reveals nothing amiss without,

But confirms my dread with certainty stout.

This raven-haired beauty brings only a grave,

For those who heed not death she does crave.

Still I watch, still I wonder each night that passes,

This femme fatale who in mystery amasses.

Though death clings to her like a tattered shroud,

Her allure has claimed me, its roots deep and proud.

Dark specter who haunts these ruins of yore,

Your beauty both thrills me and chills to the core.

Within your pale flesh lurks a monster's soul,

Preying on those who hear not death's toll.

I know I should shun you, this siren of night,

Whose kiss means oblivion, whose touch spells blight.

Yet still you enthrall me with visage so fair,

Awakening passions I can't bear to bare.

Revulsion and longing now wrestle within,

As obsession's roots tighter begin.

You stir thoughts both sacred and profane,

Awakening needs I strive to refrain.

Pale goddess of death, queen of shadows and sin,

Your allure has claimed me, your dark spell I'm in.

Though victims fall prey to your lethal kiss,

Your beauty intoxicates in its abyss.

So I'll watch you by night, composing each verse,

Torn by your dark mystique that I can't reverse.

This raven-haired siren who haunts my soul so,

In life and in death, you have marked me your own.

As if some crimson dove, clutching a lifeless rose,

I am your maiden, your wish I will grant in full.

Lest you be tempted rash, killing and hiding bones,

I am your servant, you wish — I will do both.

All I beg of thee, is to take of me all I am and know,

Tantalizing temptress, plead unto my last breath,

Take me now, rip the heart from my chest,

I implore you to steal my pathetic soul.

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