O Vampire, My Love

by Slawomir Rapala


the vampire

i brought the soothing taste of love into her life,
but i was wrong -
knocking me down with a thousand screaming fists
she told me as much.

so then i brought her the gentle smell of flowers,
but i was wrong again -
hitting me with the force of a steel hammer,
she told me as much.

so then i taught her to discover the world,
but i was wrong one more time -
biting my heart with razor-sharp teeth,
she told me as much.

so then i gave her the world that i knew,
but i was wrong that time as well -
tearing me in two with her delicate nails,
she told me as much.

finally i placed myself at her feet to have one, only one
miserable memory that i could cherish
when everything else would already be a dream,
but i was wrong for the last time -
she told me as much when she disappeared to empty
someone else’s veins.

so then i wrote this poem to let her go for the final time,
but i was wrong to think that i could -
even i know that much.

the day i died

the day i died was a day sunny and bright,
and even though i had nothing to show for my life,
except maybe bits and pieces of my conscience
that wrapped around my heart;
the day was sunny and bright, and so i died.

the day i died was a day i exploded
into millions of traffic jams and tv dinners,
unreturned phone calls and forgotten lovers.
everything stopped on the day i died
because the world revolved around me.

the day i died was a day i thought
that still no one cared about gun control,
the crime rate rising or the protection of human rights,
and the burning of the American flag.
because the world was not a pretty place.

the day i died she still hadn’t called;
she slept till noon in another man’s arms,
and then she ate eggs (over and easy) and made love,
and she didn’t even think about me once that day,
even though on that day i died.

and i thought on the day i died,
that the world was not how i imagined it,
that i achieved nothing nor gained anything,
and was loved by no one that mattered to me.
but the day was sunny and bright, and so i died.

the stranger

i met a stranger i had known for years,
and he told me that life was beautiful.
i asked him if i was alive
and he said that i was.

he was wrong about life and about me -
but he was only sixty-seven years old;
i was already twenty,
another year passing with every second.
he was an infant discovering the world;
i have seen the world and there was nothing more for me to see.
i died on a day sunny and bright because of a vampire,
while he had his whole life before him.

i wanted to tell him my story, but found no words -
let my ageless eyes talk instead.

and then he lowered his head in shame,
admitting to being wrong about life and about me,

i left him alone and in a dismal state,
and walked away, blood racing through my veins.


Copyright © 2006 by Slawomir Rapala

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