Poetry of Shell

The Slayer

The growls behind the bushes grab at me with violent delight.
My legs quiver, I welcome this night.
I grasp onto my stake, as the splinters weld into my Hand.
I like the challenge.
My blade wears a smile on the edges of its face.
I have come to commit murder all over this place.
The only friend I have is the cross across my chest.
It will join me one night on my final nights rest, but not tonight.
There are wars to be won between me and the demons.
The earthly ones.

The wrong and right.
I eagerly bite my bottom lip.
I crave this kill.
His power within me is everywhere, but yet I'm still.
My fear tries to climb me, its longing to ride me.
Teasing me with sweet ecstasy, I smile.
I can hear the grass crunching down around me.
The munching sound and blood smell above me.
I remember the world as it sleeps so sound.
Not believing. So deceiving.

There peace must remain sound.
The trees bow before me as I walk thorough the woods.
Trying not to stop me, like they could.
Then like a lighting strike I unfold into the night.
My lance leads me in a dance.
Their vulgar breath in my face.
Their longish fingers in my space. Hideous faces.
The cross non verbally speaking. Motivating. Leading.

As I bravely fight the undead.
As everything concludes.
I laugh at the severed.
And tie up my wounds.
Undefeated. I stood.
Again. For the word of good.

I work for The Savior.
Just call me,
Buffy, The Vampire Slayer