Tag Archives: paranormal

Blood Red Passion: Nocturnal Lovers

The mist lay like a falling blanket across the fields 

As I walked out into the night’s first hour,

Though my world was in its turmoil, the air was so still,

And I felt that first rush of power;

For the moon was now my lover, the night was her kiss,

Her body wrapped like silk around me,

I never thought I would know such ecstatic bliss,

I never thought I would open my eyes to see,

Her pale skin beneath my black fingernails,

Her vein pulsing beneath my trembling lips,

Off in the distance I hear the tolling of bells,

As her blood ever so silently drips

Onto my tongue to give me sweet life,

Denied to me when I walked as a man,

And one day soon she’ll be my nocturnal wife,

A beloved vampire beneath my hands,

The mist lay like a falling blanket across the fields,

And we lay there on the cold frozen ground,

The heat of our bodies, the quake of our flesh

Will bring us by night back around.

By Paul D Aronson. All Rights Reserved.


Blood Red Passion: More Than Mortal

​Often I have thought this,

should I await her to come to me

or just sit here in dread anticipation

of the morning sun? 
I foolishly believed that with this power

Would come the perfection of love,

but I will always be imperfect;

immortality changes nothing. 
I could give her the very world,

every joy, every pleasure, every dream,

and yet it still won’t change what I am –

a monster in her eyes.
I shouldn’t have told her how I felt

or of my dreams and nightmares,

never should have showed her the thirst

that even I cannot quench.
But still here I am in want,

desiring her so, needing her to want me,

not because I’m a vampire,

but because she loves me

more than mortal life itself.

By Paul D Aronson.

Blood Red Passion: For Liliana 

Sometimes I feel like I don’t belong here

In this great big emptiness of me,    

 And all I want to do is run to you,

To melt into your touch,

Where I am the safest

And most loved that I have ever been.
If I could wrap my body around you,
Sink into your youthful warmth,

I know the world would begin spinning

And we would clutch and cry,

And tremble and shake,

Holding on for dear life so we can’t be

Thrown from this maddening spin.
And it’s then I want to scream

In the penultimate expression of joy,

Your name, my name, to the heavens,

Not carved into a tree,

But into our whole realm of existence,

And we’ll be as stars glowing in the night sky,

The one star completely whole

That everyone wishes upon

When they pray for love.
When I’m with you we are deities,

Grander than vampires,

Everlasting, forever eternal,

Intimate with the night and with each other

Until the dawn comes.
And when we awake,

still we lucidly dream,

To bask in the sun,

Run through the day,

Lie in the tall grass

and make love,

with our clothes beneath us,

The trees above us,

And the truest of loves inside us 


By Paul D Aronson.

Blood Red Passion : Poetry & Verse For Vampires & Lovers (Foreword) 


The following pages were passed on to me by a troubled gentleman, Peter Marsh, who had spent much of his life as the caretaker of Red Gate Cemetery, an old graveyard in the oldest corner of the city that served as the final resting place of notable local figures, most importantly, the poet Nikolai, and his beloved wife, The lady Liliana. Mr. Marsh was convinced in his feeble aging mind that the pair were once star-crossed lovers who were cursed by Gypsies to be vampires. The validity of such an outrageous claim is in question, despite the fact that when I checked their burial vault (which he had bought and paid for) in the old mausoleum I found nothing there, not even a coffin. When I confronted Peter with this he just smiled and handed me these pages, supposedly written by Nicolai, the poet vampire. To Peter this is proof of their existence. To others, it may just be proof he is lonely, mad and delusional. To me however, I think it means they are still out there somewhere, restless lovers seeking their peace and place in the world. I present these pages and the poetry and prose contained within to you as fact, but take from it what you will. Truth, after all is stranger than fiction…

Paul D. Aronson

April 13, 2016