Poems.

Golden bullet

The sound of the bullet,

Whizzed by my ear,

I look at the man I loved,

He was trembling,

Taking shaky breaths,

I reach out,

Smiling,

He looks at me,

Shouts incoherent,

He clutches the gun,

Tighter and tighter,

Until finally,

He squeezes the trigger,

A flash of gold,

A glimpse of lost memories,

Ironic, isn't it?

Killed with the same bullet,

I had carved out of pure gold,

He drops the gun,

He collapsed on his knees,

With my final breath I smile,

He shakes,

Sirens are heard,

Blue and red flash,

It fades to black,

Smiling, I close my eyes,

Welcoming the cold touch of death,

The golden bullet,

Lodged in her head,

A symbol carved on it,

A upside down star,

In case her eyes,

Were to go black as night,

He would be able to rid the beast,

Even if she died.