My
Julia sleeps within her crypt, and I
am
there, prepared to do the thing I must.
Her
beauty's flawless, months since she did die;
returned
to us with horrid, ugly lust:
for
after dusk, she creeps without her tomb.
Our
Julia has refused to go to dust.
So
now I must return her to Death's womb.
The
time has come; the tools are all in place.
I
must act now while daylight fills the room:
My
sharpened weapon tears through all the lace.
It
plunges through her heart; her slumber breaks
at
once, and blood explodes upon my face.
She
shrieks a curse; again I strike the stake.
Julia
sleeps once more, not again to wake.
-- © 1999, W.A. Seaver.