He who hears the siren call

This is a sequel to an old supernatural poem, Vampire Days.

Hope you enjoy!

He who hears the siren call

In the empty night,

he walked, miles of woods surrounds,

within them he was told, a golden gate was bound

to freedom and crowd, it would lead,

let his ashen dreams be once more,

flourish and green with life,

his hunger that exiled him would be no more

and he’d be welcome beyond thresholds

where life, as it once were, could go on.

If only he could walk through the gates made of gold,

hidden in brambles and wilderness age old,

hiding him from beating hearts galore.

Centuries has been, but no more,

beyond the gates, the siren calls.

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