Piercing through the night,
The screams shatter all but one’s plight,
A plight to stop the immortal undead,
Long before the earth turns red
Death and destruction don’t become her,
So she lights candles in an overwhelming number,
She chants a whispered prayer,
A thread of words spread in a narrow, thin layer,
To tear a hole through the fabric of space and time,
A spell bordering on divine
The responsibility placed upon her head,
To hunt the immortal undead,
Is not the one she chose,
Yet the chants still flow
Day or night she is there,
Fighting on as if enthralled in a dare,
But such practice, her life, is forbidden,
Forcing her stay well hidden,
And even though the gates shall open to her above,
The mortal enchantress must never fall into the arms of love.
Written in 1995 by Chris
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- * Poem: Sickly Sort
- * Cliff – poem
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- * Magical Wonders – Poem
- * Past Tomorrows: Poem
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By: Sahara 
By: Jonathan Downin