Death of Dracula

By Bradley McIlwain
for Bela Lugosi (Oct. 20, 1882-Aug. 16, 1956)


Slow agony.
Your heart raged against the light


you could have
done Shakespeare

or Sophocles. In the end,
the cape won, called you

a shadow among cinema.
Maybe, it was those beguiling eyes

or whetted smile.
When you watched the old films,    


you could still imagine
Helen Chandler’s neck.

Hollywood
thought they had the final stake.

In a casket, they lowered you
in sacred ground.

Six-feet wasn’t deep enough.
Still you rose.

Blood is the life.
Didn’t they remember the movies?