The Netherlands
Copyright 1999-2003
by Nate Leved
Day is done and darkness flows in, soft,
silent and luxurious as a breeze from the
astral All. This is a favorite time when
the accursed orb drowns in the Western
sea, and the astral home comes alive,
taking over the hearts and minds of men
and their counterparts who long for
fulfillment. It is the time of the great
awakening
A magic whistle blows, and there is a
change of shift. The day people and their
animals lock themselves away against the
darkness and begin to bed down for the
silken night. Then, as if by magic, a new
crew comes on the scene, sniffing about
and hunting for satisfaction.
Everything has changed and taken on
new meaning. There is still birth, life
and death, but it is somehow different
now, softer, mellower and more fully
satisfying. There is an understanding,
unsaid, but yet known to all. Now is the
time for socializing and selection. A
time for picking and choosing and
making ready.
Magnificent hungers rise up lusting for
the fulfillment of blood and passion as
the darkness deepens and the moon rises
in expectation of that which is to come.
Some eyes shine in the dark, for they are
the eyes of the predators. Other eyes do
not shine at all, and it is obvious that they
are victims, awaiting their fortunes as the
cards are shuffled and cast. What will
the outcome reveal?
Some players will win before this night is
done, while others will lose at the game
of life. The Wheel of Fortune spins
round and round, as fates are decided and
life and death hang in the balance. The
Fool, whose eyes do not shine, steps off
into the fog of the midnight abyss while
his little dog barks valiantly to awaken
him from his reverie before the die is
cast, but to no avail. He sees not his
coming demise.
But no matter, Death rattles past on his
shiny, ebon cart to pick up the offerings
before the fiery orb rises once again to
sear the eyes of the infidel. The moon,
who now holds sway, prevaricates as she
always has, driving people to madness in
the plastid reflection her silvery light.
She smiles cunningly and muses upon
her next escapade before the last one has
cooled.
The hands of the steeple clock march
toward the midnight hour as leathery
wings beat against the darkness; red eyes,
scanning for the quick movements of
sustenance, afield upon the cold ground
in this place of shadows. A singular
thirst is fully upon those who walk the
night, and they now become serious in
their singular endeavors, their appetite
building. They shall not fail.
Hunger is not fleeting, but instead, all
encompassing, causing alabaster bodies
to tremble in expectation of the coming
delight which is old, but just the same
always new and looked upon with
trepidation and yet anticipation. Some
creatures of the night attempt to justify
their forlorn existence, but most have
long forgotten what it is like to be the
hunted.
The soul death hour nears as leathery
wings brush the window frames of
those waiting in their white and holy
bedclothes, fitting sacrifices of the
damned. The trembling victims in their
warm repose feel the draw of the red-
eyed ones who anticipate them as they
flee to their window sashes and release
the locks to let their lovers of the night in
to feed upon their dreams.
leved
Copyright 1996-2003, Nate Leved, all rights reserved.
"May the Dark Sun light your journey."