Poetry through the Seasons of Buffy the Vampire Slayer
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?
Sultry tones summon,
defining me, clawed
and bleeding with passion,
two of the same deceit.
The lines between beast
and savior blur.
And you ask,
Do you love me?
And I say,
I’ve never loved anything else.
Pain moves in
where love once lived.
Love packs a duffle
and drives away
in a blue van.