My sister Dania recently had a surprise for me. I was visiting my hometown of Geneva, Switzerland, where she lives, and she handed me a creased old piece of torn paper, from an email I'd sent her on April 28th, 2002. It was a sonnet I'd written for my university French class, about a vampire pondering his upcoming suicide. I'd entirely forgotten its existence, and rereading it awoke several fond memories: learning about rhyming quatrains, octaves, sestets in class, rewriting it over and over until it felt right, and reciting it to my professor, who had tears in her eyes when I finished. They all came flooding back.
I am by no means a poet, but it's both fun and touching for me to rediscover little nuggets of creativity from long ago. I mean, 2002! That's three years pre-Twilight!
I can't claim any sort of credit for my choice of topic, however: At the time, I was a huge Buffy the Vampire Slayer fan (well, ok, I still am. It's just not on anymore. Which is sad.) I was picturing Spike as I was writing it.
My sonnet now sits tacked up on my bulletin board at work, surrounded by travel pictures and other memories that make me smile.
Roughly translated, it reads:
Do you know that tomorrow my long walk will end?
That my steps in the sand will be covered up by it?
That this body you see, made of flesh and bone,
Will tomorrow be dust, swept away, forgotten?
Do you know that already I am dead and gone?
That my lungs are already emptied of air?
So many terrible crimes committed on this Earth!
Rest assured: I will not be absolved...
Walking through this desert, without reflection, without return,
On my Path to Calvary, I await only the dawn,
Which will finally come and allow me to die.
I have no regrets; time has felt overlong to me.
The rising sun will bleed this vampire,
Countless years I have awaited its rays.
...I promise, it sounds better in French.