Immortal

The sky is tinted a purplish grey -
Witness to the sun's last dying gasp.
Purple slowly to charcoal turns,
The world's now in dread Night's grasp.
Shadows lengthen, and darken their hue,
A giant hand extinguishes the stars,
The darkness is alive with unnamed horrors,
The ragged wind night's silence mars.
Something sinister prowls the moors,
In the chill breeze his whistle sounds -
Hideous bats he uses as falcons,
Ravenous wolves are his hunting hounds,
His cape swishes among gorse bushes,
His boots leave no marks in the heather.
What hunter is this, mortal or demon,
That dares be out in such cruel weather?
Bloodshot and black are his fathomless eyes
His countenance pale and bloodless -
Immeasurably ancient, yet eternally young,
Time and age no power over him possess.
Darker than darkest night, smoother than silk
A rich raven mane to his shoulders falls;
Awakened by his silent, weightless steps
In airy whispers to him the night calls.
Against his skin, his bloodstained lips
Are like a scarlet rose on driven snow,
Beneath them, his jagged white fangs
Sharp, predatory cruelty show.
On the neck, hidden by hair and collar
By two puncture marks his skin is blemished;
Their dark powers have kept him here
Long after the deaths of all he has cherished.
Left behind, he walks his solitary path -
Neither wishing, nor being wished well.
What pleasure 'twould be to perish,
E'en when condemned to eternal hell!
Not so to be, never so to be,
Damned he is to roam in darkest night -
Damned to be alone; alive and young,
Damned to ne'er see daylight.