Poetry through the Seasons of Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Awakening to count sheep
in my pajamas,
unable to replace
bad deeds with good,
I lie to you.
Number three and a handshake,
told in shadows and tones.
Guilt holds me under
‘til my body rises,
pain deep in the center
like a rock.
He takes her
to the hilltop
in chains,
but she won’t listen.
She’s a brick,
all softness gone.
Thin lines,
not always drugs,
prove still addictive
and, having a long time fear of water,
drown me in my own guilt,
calling from the darkness
as I sink below.
expectations
are like handcuffs
with no key
leaving you tied
to your bed in a
compromising position
* * *
I want to grunt
and bury my hands
up to the armpits,
sway my hips
and dance my legs
around you
‘til I’m stained,
past possible
to clean.
Then I’ll come again,
blue and billowy
before you,
push my hair
behind one ear,
you sweet young thing.
So scrubbed
and oh so damaged.
Faded stains,
but never clean.
If we could watch life
ticking away in red
countdown numbers,
would we be content
knowing how many ticks
we have left?
Or would we rue each second,
too visibly aware
of how much is already lost?
Would fear overtake us,
gluing our feet to the very spot
on the floor where we stand
staring,
unable to live our lives,
unable to remove our gaze
from the numbers?
Or,
as they tick down
slowly,
one by one,
are we finally fearless,
having witnessed
the face of time?
Hands join in battle,
friendship,
in love.
Hands move in pairs.
Holy lips bring fire,
burn house down.
Hands touch as lips,
creating great
disturbance.
Armless,
we lose the chance to hug.
In pairs,
we come back.
Alone,
we are fingers.
Together, hands,
joined
to make a difference.
In white
I hold you,
the ring of truth
falling
from your finger.
Blood flows
from the open wound
of my sword.
We dance,
sipping drinks
from colored glasses,
telling tales
to make me hungry.
Only gone a moment,
she comes
to claim my crown
(and) even with a head start,
I’m on the run.
Memories clattering
to the floor
like colored glasses,
it comes to me
quietly.
I couldn’t save him.
So with a kiss,
I say goodbye
and
(the) colors fade.