Frank F. Atanacio Poetry

He stared down,
toward the ground,
at the naked forms
of three females,
they were hungry and thin,
he stroked his chin,
he was Lord of the Vampires,
and his prisoners were in caves,
he kept them bounded in the dark,
that’s how he treated his slaves,
his food supply,
his craves,
they knew he was hungry,
so the females cried,
a moment later,
his slaves complied.

Poet: Frank F. Atanacio