June 23, 2007 (ABC News / Lindsay Hamilton) -- He calls himself a "vampyre" (the Romanian spelling, he says) and claims he's been drinking blood since age five. He also wants to be your next president.

The summer was brief, and already by the middle of September many had returned to the pleasures of urban life. Ethel was among the first-comers; for, after her resolve to enter the life of the young poet once more, it would have been impossible for her to stay away from the city much longer. Her plan was all ready.

A kind of stupefaction came over Henry Bannerworth, and he sat for about a quarter of an hour scarcely conscious of where he was, and almost incapable of anything in the shape of rational thought. It was his brother, George, who roused him by saying, as he laid his hand upon his shoulder, --

"Henry, are you asleep?"

i scream
no words come to mind
the voices
the noise
i can't think
i can't breathe
i scream into an endless hell
no one listens
overwhelming feelings
thoughts
will it never end
i scream
it stops
silence
immense nothingness
i am alone
i am home
i am here

Raevynn
March 31, 2002

First published in Letters From the Soul (International Library of Poetry).  Permission to reprint granted by the author.

Enter the wolf
Cruel staring eyes
Burning with hunger

Enter the lamb
Soft, supple flesh
The screaming victim

Why do men wonder?
What is so strange?
When lamb meets wolf the lamb comes willing
To be engulfed by carnivorous jaws
Why should the wolf deny that
Which its very nature demans

Do you understand?
Probably not
You are neither wolf nor lamb
But the stealthful lynx
Masterful and cunning

Children playing in the street
Killed by Tandem truck
Is it so shocking?