Poetry through the Seasons of Buffy the Vampire Slayer
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.
Music pricked his ears,
pouring straight
into his soul,
transforming him
into a creature,
wind in his fur,
flies in his teeth,
lifted from love’s arms,
its primitive heart
barely beating.
She wears scars on the inside,
dragon inn
dragon out,
drops her dress to forget, but
instead remembers,
diving deep into crimson sheets.
He wears teal, the color of his eyes,
telling tales
trick or treat,
wraps her hair around him like a cape,
escaping easily into morning coffee.
She never looked for him in daylight,
the sun
so hurts his eyes,
burning still, but can’t admit it,
her rarest jewels in heaps at his feet.
Shards of glass dangle.
Walking through memories,
everything fades.
I am your fountain.
Take what you need,
leave the spiders to feed.
The cat’s all alone,
counting miles
before dawn.
Some will be bitten.
Some will be brave.
In the mist, I must exit,
not saying goodbye;
just the slightest
flow of coat behind me.
And though we’ll meet again,
it’s twenty years ‘til then,
and many, oh so many,
snowy evenings.
A vision:
Daddy’s little girl,
barefoot and beautiful;
but damaged on the inside,
burned beyond recognition.
If we are to die,
I want to lie with you,
poisoned and fevered
until we find our way;
bound together in battle,
holding your hand until the end.
I will kill to save you.
You will die to protect me.
As the glass shatters,
the blade penetrates,
deep, like the blood of family,
and we part like sisters,
silent, but sure
to speak again,
at least in anger.
You are chosen
by the sunlight,
your lover
by darkness.
Shadows like spiders
entangle this lover’s box,
creaking open
to spill your fears.
Old and shriveled,
you hide
amidst the twilight.
He, forever lost
to the night,
is always beautiful.
You lower the lid
and, with great sadness,
walk away,
the only true gift
ever received
now left behind.
She came for me
and I came for her.
We were lovers
for awhile,
the dark
and the light.
Awakening
in butterflies and daisies,
she didn’t know where
she’d been.
Who would you be if I weren’t me,
asking why you stole my boyfriend?
I try to send her back
to a world more tolerant,
but her charm
has lost its way.
Pink sweater,
banana,
orange backpack.
A fold in time
and it could be
leather pants,
red lips,
black fingernails.
Returning to the dark,
it overtakes her
and, once again,
she is dust.