Whitby Abbey

The lava sky burning into my pale white skin. 

The breath of the wind kissing my neck,

stumbling barely breathing,

Held within the abandoned abbey. 


Sacred ground grabbed my feet,

grass like witches fingers,

tangled bloodied toes, 

tripping me, holding me, binding me.  


Scarlet volcanic madness crushing,

Changing and evolving,

Every step dragging me back.

Red fires of hell grinding my soul.


The undulating walls

Ripple like golden metal.

The once glazed Windows, 

the stained glass turned by hell.


Bats shroud screeching walls;

No one to listen.  

Chanting cries deafen my throbbing ears,

penetrate deep my soul. 


Majestic broken Abbey hides ungodly sinners, 

vampires nestling in the walls.  

Magical beautiful building,

Dracula's place. 

Whitby vampires Dracula

◄ Say Yes to the Dress

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Robert Mann

Thu 15th Jun 2017 18:20

Louise - Bram would be flattered I'm sure. Nice work.

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Tue 24th Jan 2017 21:15

You've wrung so much out of the potential of the place - it becomes a nightmare instead of a rather sad remnant. A beautiful place to photograph , austere and with such a legendary atmosphere, thanks to Bram Stoker. I think you have done it justice!


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Hazel ettridge

Mon 23rd Jan 2017 20:10

Must be Goth weekend? I love Whitby but my experience of the Abbey is somewhat milder than yours in this poem.

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