Poets and Vampires
by MrDaMan
Virgil R. Hall II (Randy)

I find myself drinking deep
the blood of empathy.

Wounded humanity in my arms.
I raise my head to breathe and savor
the complexity, the robust chaos
of desirous crimson venality.

I promise nothing but the emptiness,
the hunger, that my creator gave me.
Never ever truly satiated… MORE
will forever bleed from your lips.

As I drain your life, your fleeting time,
and we feed upon each others love,
hatreds and shared experience…
My gift of light… in this dark.

Only when you are assuredly dead
will you conceivably live beyond the flesh.
Entombed in a leather coffin on a dusty shelf
in a mausoleum of mankind’s arrogant ignorance.

But, but, but I am not dead… not yet!
I am but a feisty poet in sensitive repose, my neck
exposed to the sun and the night, open to burn or bite.
My mind a razor sharply cutting fanciful reality.

Or a vampire sucking empathy from an open book.
Driving a steak through my own heart, pounding
hope in synchronicity to the beat of my years.
A thrum which I still feel with all my being.

Behold my pale reticence, my sunburned innocence,
the strength in the weakness of frail faith questioning
doubt. Bleeding self inflicted prose page after page,
drinking deeply the empathy of poets and vampires.

All of this bark… and bite.
Ummmm ….. yummy!