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.
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.
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.
By candlelight
I carve out a life alone,
convinced
that I’m unlovable.
Insecurities, like bees,
pollinate fear
into brilliant blossoms.
I fall hard.
I fall deep,
red and black
and bleeding.
Lifted into flight,
beauty
frightened by love.
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.
Intimacy in the night,
gentle,
like butterfly to breast,
brutality
scratching its way to the surface
only later.