Author's Note: This is a poem about the graveyard battle and yes, it was inspired by the movie. Please review, but if you flame me I will bite off your head. Okay?
The Face of the Enemy
A place of dark, portentous doom, a demon's dwelling, a place of gloom.
A nightmare incarnate, his darkest dream true, a face in the darkness, a face that he knew.
The face of the enemy, on something twisted and small, a tormenting horror that made his skin crawl.
Green and then black, and his horror filled cries, his comrade's last breath, a look of shock in dead eyes.
Blood taken by the point of a knife, raging emotions of grief and of fear, blinding pain in his head, the Dark Lord was here!
Words whipped around him, taunting and cruel, as black-shrouded figures answered the call, and a pair of red eyes gleamed like a jewel.
A wand pointed at him, his heart raced with fright, he rolled to the ground, then ran from the fight.
The enemy called him, goading him to fight, as he gathered his courage, and turned to face the night.
Spells cast together, green against red, connecting in air, summoning the spirits of the dead.
Familiar faces rose before his eyes, blinking he refused to cry, the connection broke, and he refused to die.
Diving he grabbed victory and death, then leapt through the skies, head spinning with pain, his mind branded by two eyes.
The face of the enemy, he would never forget, bone-white against red, a menace, a threat.
And set against the face of the enemy, with good instead of ill, was the face of the hero, the face of someone real.
The face of the enemy.
The face of the hero.