Immortal Rhythms

The rain beats a relentless rhythm
Staccato, the clapping of Hispanic hearts.
Night fills all like spilled ink on a canvas,
I’m awash in it. Always.
Peace is a rare commodity,
As intangible as ghosts after midnight;
No rest for the wicked, they say.
I know this better than most.
I have known it too long.
Immortality is not a gift,
No lingering pleasure,
No infinite extension of crimson bliss,
But a bane, a burden, a price paid.
So I sit here in this ebon night,
This wet patch of eternity,
Talons poised over a dead chest
Seeking purchase on sodden velvet;
I wait to end it,
But I can’t.
I never will.
Death won’t allow it.

9 thoughts on “Immortal Rhythms”

  1. I just knew it.
    You speaks to us in riddles and short six stories, but the codes are hidden right in front of us.
    I just knew it that from the beginning you are an Immortal, aren’t you?
    For all the vampire and nosferatu stories you wrote, you meant it is all about YOU …

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