The non-metaphorical vampire

Walking the illuminated streets; I feel the centuries under my feet.

There are no longer kings or players who croon and sing.

Silk exchanged for nylon and the screen is insisted upon.

But I find the short-term trends irrelevant in the schemes of my wandering.

Ideas fall and rise from the human mind in a cycle like the scavenger circling.

My immortal brain is pondering.

Exiting the theatre unnoticed in the crowd; people speaking proud.

I think of the crescendo to which the choir sang.

The old arts have not met the same fate. Human loves to preserve what was once great.

But my race remains unknown to the modern masses despite the pop culturing.

I can never join the arts, dazzling the humans with my angelic singing.

My immortal eyes are shining.

As I spot a solitary beauty, my eyes narrow on the modern-day rarity.

This girl looks like she belongs to a Verdi song.

Ladies inject their faces with synthetics, but this one has settled for simple cosmetics.

“You’re a charming one,” she says to me with a smile and blood flushing.

With a hypnotic stare and a hungry grin I reply, “Come with me walking?”

My immortal mouth is drinking.

Under the shining moon divine; I gaze upon the Christian shrine.

From this young religious chapel the dying mortals sing.

That room of Christ causes me no harm. In fact, I find the hall quite calm.

But to enter and partake would be an act of exposure to the weakening.

To enter and join in the chorus is my grandest desire pulsating.

My immortal soul is yearning.