Byrth In the deep dark crypt of gore According to the Vampyre lore The son of darkness spawned in soil A putrid oozing septic boil And all the hosts that cause decay Gathered round in their caustic way To welcome the one to rule them well These demon pustules born in hell And as the boil is lanced a birth A child formed from poisoned earth Fed by foster leaches fat Milk delivered from a bat And growing fast it learns to fly Amorphic shape ne’er to die This adolescent soon will take It’s first true meal for vampyre sake So when the moon is full take care For he is hungry and he will dare To take your life force flowing free And claim his bride, perhaps it’s thee © 2000 Philip G. Bell The Fall of Seraphim Say to me your earthly name Your mortal label in this game Of Life and Death from thence decay A brief encounter on the way Or can it be a pseudonym For the binding of a Seraphim Held in chains of Astral Iron Guarded here by Heaven’s Lion Stay your sentence, serve your time And contemplate upon your crime Discover here that truth is love And Lies are not allowed above Call out once more your earthly name Your human tag upon a frame And serve and wait until your call To where you were before your fall © 2000 Philip G. Bell A Strange Tale The tree stood hundreds of years undisturbed Deep in the Hertfordshire wood Old and gnarled its trunk was wide Waiting for something good A young child walking discovered this spot Secret to the outside chase And stared a long while at this ancient tree And a hole near the base The child climbed inside though cramped Into a chamber no harm Alive with secret lights in the wood Offering comfort and calm The hole shrunk in size to the size of a fist And the child cried wild But a voice calmly spoke in the head Do not fear me child I offer you immortal life free from care or pain You offer me something good Cleansing my old twisted roots and trunk Unadulterated, innocent food No cried the child, this is wrong you are bad I am not at all for your food You must free me or the woodman’s axe Will cut you down real good Those words stung the tree, it had misjudged the child How could it get it so wrong These humans are strange suffering all of their pain And their lives not at all so long The hole grew in size and the tree spat the child The child turned a face And stared a long while at this ancient tree And a hole near the base The tree stood hundreds of years more undisturbed Deep in the Hertfordshire wood Old and gnarled its trunk was wide Waiting for something good © 1999 Philip G. Bell Keeping your Spirit up! "Who are you?", I asked "No one", he replied At least I think it was a he Perhaps before he died "What are you?", I asked "Nothing", he said As he faded into obscurity Just at the end of my bed. "Where are you going?", I called out "No where!", his faint voice echoed Around the walls of my room Where ectoplasm flowed And then I was alone again. No sound except for the beat of my shadow heart Nothing stirred, just an empty room And well, I guess little me, for my part. But then who am I? - No one! What am I? - Nothing at all Where am I going? - No where! Just a ghost, having a ball! © 2000 Philip G. Bell

A Grave Thought Whilst rummaging around Upon the sacred ground Of an olde and well worn graveyard in the towne I tripped upon a stone That had fallen all alone In the olde and well worn graveyard in the towne I scampered to my feet And guess who I did meet In that olde and well worn graveyard in the towne I really shouldn’t boast But it was the very ghost From the olde and well worn graveyard in the towne I asked him who he was And he said his name was Boz From that olde and well worn graveyard in the towne Now as true as hens are chickens I am sure that this was Dickens In that olde and well worn graveyard in the towne © 2000 Philip G. Bell Mortality As I walked across the old church yard I spied upon the ground a card I picked it up quite near a grave And looked upon the blackest knave A spade associates with death As we give to him last breath But here alone at night as well A shiver stirred within my hell I knelt before the graveyard stones And pondered over the hidden bones That once had life and spirit free And cared upon it just like me I turned and looked upon the card Even though in dark it was quite hard The knave was gone, the card just white Inscribed upon it in fading light I read these words across the face It is the fate of all your race But now begone and don’t be glum Your time oh child, is yet to come © 2000 Philip G. Bell The Moondican On a hill near a river, Near a tree by a stone. Count four and twenty paces, To the home of the Moondican. Moondican, Moondican, Listen to my call, Come here in Summer, Come here in Fall. In a hedgerow by the watertrough, Where the nettles grow long. Turn this way a little more, To the home of the Moondican. Moondican, Moondican, Listen to my call, Come here in Summer, Come here in Fall. Where the robin nests, Where the thorns are sharp. Just a little further, To the home of the Moondican. Moondican, Moondican, Listen to my call, Come here in Summer, Come here in Fall. And when you think you are there, You can ask what you will, But the Moondican will always Live just over the hill. Moondican, Moondican, Listen to my call, Come here in Summer, Come here in Fall. I’ve searched for the Moondican, For many a year. And now I have found him, He’s just over here! © 1999 Philip G. Bell Children of the Night  I walked from my car It was late at night The engine had stopped When my heart took fright  This place was remote A road through the wood No sound broke the night As night sounds should  I walked along this road There was nothing behind But the dark and the silence Both played on my mind  After what seemed A long silent walk A figure I spied At last I could talk  To my surprise I had met a child An image so innocent So meek and so mild  And then there were two, Four and then eight. What were these children Doing out late?  Where do you live? I asked of them all They pointed through the trees Leafless from fall  Without speaking I followed them through Fern hedged tracks What else could I do  ''til they came to a clearing And a circle they made Pointing at the ground On that spot I just laid  A chant, a beat, My heart rhythm rose My will had all gone From my head to my toes  And eight blades flashed And my heart took flight Innocence of Hell Children of the Night © 2000 Philip G. Bell