Buffy's Lament ( an slayer's poem)

The still lilies would wait,
Wait there on the table, weigh down the wood with their grief.
She would feel there petals,
Their softened petals, searching for some final relief.

She could stay there for an hour,
An hour or two to ponder her for a while, her final breath.
To feel her way to an ending ,
Of the thought how she could never save her in death.

The tears she shed were painful,
Painful enough to make her wince, and crumble down inside.
Yet to never show those feelings,
Would take her all of her strength and effort to hide.

Her snowy cheeks had drained,
Drained the day her mother left them, left this life.
Her pale gaunt facade weeped,
Her eyes a shollow grey with the glint of a knife.

That could cut through a person,
A person that could strike her down ,
So scared they would be of a face,
With no smile, wink nor a frown.

To stay in motion was hard enough,
Hard enought o cause her a constant pain.
But no-one could se this below her surface,
As everday a new shiny buffy whose happiness she'd feign.