Poetry through the Seasons of Buffy the Vampire Slayer
I am pieces
of many things –
metal
and heat,
flesh
and dandelions,
a potion of breath
and diversity.
In grief I swelter,
sorting through lies,
confusing evil with disguise.
Parental love
imprisons, protects.
I am released
only in death,
holding tight to the silk
from your hair.
My only truth.
I fight with you.
I lay with you
in my arms.
Betrayal runs
thick through
my memory.
I half expect you
to be gone
or altered
come morning,
but you awake
with smiles
and vitamins,
the secrets
between us
invisible.
Man is made of blood, a child merely bones.
If the earth shakes beneath us, do we feel less alone?
Doomed is our connection, tired of fighting in the dark.
Protect my heart from bleeding, always falling apart.
Though on fire when I’m with you, I must send you away,
throw myself upon your sword. Love hurts, as they say.
My coat, it is the color of my oft broken heart,
bleeding secrets between us, always falling apart.
Shadows
in the clock tower,
frightened girls
who cannot scream.
Without voice,
intimacy becomes language.
Hideous
is the face of silence.
One noise,
a volcano
in the quiet of a mind.
The clock strikes one
and steals our hearts,
cutting them
from the chest
with knives so sharp
that, though we die,
the pain remains.
Only a song
can save us.
If hate could kiss,
would it be beautiful?
If love would last,
could it be kind?
* * *
Scent of past love lingers,
clinging like lace against my skin,
tattoos of pain no one can see,
intimate like a friend, like a torturer,
intimate like a friend, like a kidnapper,
intimate like a friend, like an executioner.
The scent of love lingers.
I am vengeance.
I am justice.
I am a hole in the heart of the world.
Give me comfort,
pie and yams,
family to watch over me.
I am a knock at the door.
I am the enemy,
but never the one you expect.
Give me strength.
Give me story.
There is much to be thankful for.
Talk to me, farm boy.
Tell me of your intentions.
Will you love the girl?
Will you scar her,
playing at love only to entice?
Talk to me of your secrets,
parts less shiny.
Is the trust on your face
merely tarnish?
The girl has been lied to before.
Tell me, do you dance?
Can you carry conversation?
Will you hold the girl
in times of need?
Talk to me.
This is no ordinary girl.
Her powers lie
beyond your imagine.
Lead her to worries,
she will drink.
The girl is fruitful,
her heartland rich.
Will you stick around
for the harvest?
Talk to me.
Farm boy, tell me,
are you true?
One
where there were once
many, I take comfort
in the night, in the
creatures who
play there. Room most
familiar looms uncomfortably
large. Words form not
in my mouth, but
rush out the sides.
Phone rings a lost love’s
breath, no voice,
only darkness. Music
plays, something pink,
as bandits sift through my
memories. Parasol of past lives,
broken at my feet. For the cry
of one small creature,
I crash through the glass
to rest in the arms
of the familiar.