Vampire City

by Shawn Allen

This city is not-dead,
It sustains itself on the life
It drains from the lost ones
Walking its night-black streets.
All that contains it –
The running water of the twisted river.
Everything it contains,
Fodder for its corrupt spirit.
There are no trees;
nothing that can be broken off and sharpened.
The soil is pale
With sparse patches of umber weeds
Like hair on an old man’s scalp.
The wind tastes of ashes
And lingering damnation; 
It howls like wolves.
Only the condemned and the mad
Come over the bridges
Or through the gates.
The city whispers to them,
“I love you.”
They can’t see that they are prey.
This place does not know love,
Nor art, nor does it have a reflection.
Her shadows move like predators
With life of their own
And never sleep.
It tears away slivers of soul
And sucks the life from everything
In tiny drops and moments
that are never missed.
There’s not enough holy rain to cleanse
All the stained souls within its borders.
This is a part of me
That should remain buried,
Yet rises from my past
Again and again.
It is time to pull up my stakes 
And put them in the heart 
Of this necropolis;
To take up the torch 
And set fire to the river as I leave.

(c) 05-05-2014
Shawn D. Allen.

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