Routine of the Living Dead – A Poem

Rise again from an unmarked grave

Rising up through dirt and root

Leaf and grass

Rising up to face the night

To face the moon as she rides high

Lift my face to the moon

Scent the night

Scent the wind

My evening meal is not at hand

But I can smell her near me

Her scent is ripe and warm

With the rush of life

throbbing through her veins

Like each night before

I move away from my resting place

Moving through shadow and shade

One with the night

Ruler of the dark

I seek her out

Press my teeth

Through her flesh

Find the nectar that

Is her life

I break my fast tonight

As I have done

Countless nights before