Archive | January, 2013

The Dead Aren’t Alone

30 Jan

Property of The DarkRose Journal, 2013
Written by, Devoted Blood (Again, sometime in the early 90’s)

Since my husband’s poetry is inspired by me and written to me, I am more than a little biased. Still, I think he is a very talented poet.
Lovely Rose
The Dead Aren’t Alone

To lay inside the pentagram
and lick hot wax
from your sweating body,
I gladly pay the price-
my sacrifice.

Tasting the sweetness
of your juices,
I hear the night’s chanting.
A calling
for us to be as one.

the warrior
willing turned slave,
forever bow to your name.
I shall faithfully die
to grant your desires.

Waking to a dream,
I hear you
whispering within me.
Yes, I would be honored
for you to be my death.

I rip out my black heart
for you to hold in your hands.
Work magic on me,
my queen.
I surrender unconditionally.

Just grant one wish
and turn my soul to crystal.
A pendant
to wear around your neck
and keep us close.

Black lace covers me
as she covers herself.
Cold hands caress,
forever warming my transparent tomb.



My Apologies

30 Jan


I must apologize to everyone if I have misled you. I know that I always label things, light and dark. I know that I most especially differentiate between dark love and mundane(light) love.

I do that metaphorically as well as poetically. The truth about love, real love, as I know it to be, is quite simply this:

Love is love. It has no color, no station in life, no country, no religion, no gender, no ideals, no philosophy, and certainly, does not belong to any realm, be it dark or light. Love just is.
There is truly nothing more powerful.



29 Jan

Property of The DarkRose Journal, 2013
Copyright 1/29/13, By DarkRose
Bloody Truth

Nux Nox
Pax Pox
Hex Hax
Wix Wax
Hithero hothero
Withero wothero

The bitter mends
The sweet mends
The silver mends
The gold mends
The warm mends
The cold mends
The light mends
The dark mends,
Thus we are renewed this night,
Through the ebon grace
Of our own divine.

Virtue is ours, as of the Dark Angel,
Beware the fire we cast at thee.
Wisdom is ours, as of this Earth,
Beware the fire we cast at thee.
Power is ours, as of the moon,
Beware the fire we cast at thee.

Bearer of the false light,
Dead thing, “evil,” old and dried
Your foul skin be cast aside
And thus transformed to black fire.
Beneath your flesh of confusion,
Behold your bones of that which is true:
Still all save one are false,
And must deceive where the spirit’s eye is shut:
Yet open now that eye
And the true bone shall rise.

Halls of blood where life has fled
Walls of bone that close you round
Break your reign,
Your yoke be shed.
Now, melt your anger
In tears of salt
Be turned to Dark Love
By the sweet scarlet salve.

Flesh lacking blood
Bone lacking flesh
Spirit lacking substance
Arise and be fed
Arise to bone and flesh and blood,
This night renewed by the dark Gospel’s food.
Nevermore to thirst for ours
Nor on our living limbs to twine.

Fruit of ruby,
Pearl of blood
Red of Dark Love
the gift has been given…
Shall you waste and mourn your “loss?”
While we flourish in Darkness’ sight,
A gall to our living flesh,
Forever your false verity
Mocked before our Darklight.
By the tribes of the moon,
You must choose…

O Serpent wise
Thy flesh doth rise
To warm our mortals bed
Where we shall be forever wed.

We are the DarkBreed.


A Little Clarity

27 Jan


Hello Everyone, this is me looking at you…;-)

Because it’s probably not evident to most reading my prose,’Den of Crimson Desire,’ I wrote this based on my experiences as a member of a blood den. I was a member of a den in Louisiana and Florida. Yes, they really exist. It’s not like you can ask directions or Google Map them. You HAVE to be invited. Again, a part of the real world of living vampires and lycans. So, maybe now, my prose might make more sense to some of you.

Den of Crimson Desire

27 Jan

Property of The DarkRose Journal, 2013
Copyright 1/27/13, By DarkRose


Den of Crimson Desire

Sublime pale buttocks
Veiled in sparkling beads
Inticing the compelling hazy rub.
Of colliding eyes…No concealing here:
The night tribes one brazen, sweating declaration.
And while stocking clad legs waken potpourri in the brain
You pick your raven-tressed
Goddess out adeptly through the smoke.
Always you wait for someone else though, always-
(Then rush the nearest exit through the crimson vapor).

Always and last, before the final sanguine union
When all the scarlet passion drumfires,
Begins a thundering scrimmage
With a somewhere violin,
Some deepest, bloodied echo of them all-begins.

And shall we call her whiter than snow?
Sprayed first with ruby, then with emerald sheen-
Least tearful and least glad
(Who knows her smile?)
An entangled crouch reveals her raw between.

Her eyes exist in the swelling of her breasts,
Blood-soaked beads whip her hips,
A drench of whirling strands.
Her snake rings begin to mount,
Conquering each other-
Silver delusion on tinseled hands.

We cease that writhing red lagoon,
Her glittering beads unstrung,
–All but her belly
buried in the floor;
And the libertine thrash
Of a final muted beat!
We feel her spasm through a fleshless door…

Yet to the empty trapeze of her flesh,
O, bleeding creature, each comes back to die alone.

Then you, the burlesque of our lust–and faith,
Deliver us back lifeward–
Bone by infant bone.


Little White Shift

26 Jan

Property of The DarkRose Journal, 2013
Copyright 1/26/13 By DarkRose

This little diddy is inspired and written for my husband, Devoted Blood’s enthusiasm whenever he sees me in my little shift.


Little White Shift

Last night,
As half asleep,
He lay dreaming.
Half naked and barefoot
I came to him in my
little white shift;
With sparkling midnight eyes,
And naughty verses upon my lips;
My husbands eyes
All shining for the sight
Of his dark nymph.
Filled full of frolic,
I licked my wine-red lips,
Warm as a dewy rose,
Sudden I slipped into
Our bed,
Wearing just my
Little shift.

Said I, half naked, now
Half dreaming,
With a soft sigh of mmmm yeah,
Betwixt each silky whisper-
‘Oh my love, do you sleep or wake!’

In an instant he bolted upright for our sake.
He kissed my ruddy mouth,
Bit deep into my bottom lip,
He drank my dark wine
And licked me clean
As it trickled down my chin
And found its home between my ample
porcelain breasts.

My husband and I,
His lithe dark nymph,
In the little see through shift,
Ordained the flowing wine,
Over and over again.

With crimson elixir
And passions brimming over,
We collapsed into each other,
Our knotted locks, tangled
and enveloped like a flower with sweet, seductive scent.

Oh how we ravished each other and made the night blush,
All because of my
Little white shift.

*Yes, that’s me in my little white shift, lol.

For My Husband

25 Jan

Wings of Fire


Devoted Blood, true love, our love, is a durable fire,
In the mind and heart ever burning,
Never sick, never old, never dead,
From itself never turning.

I love you beyond all my breaths, beyond all my passions, beyond all life.
Our love is so very much a precious, priceless, sought after, by all the world love…to let go would certainly be my true death.
I love you, never doubt, for even the span of a single breath, that you are my everything.

~Julia (DarkRose)

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