Archery

March 24, 2010
By winterholly SILVER, Hong Kong, Other
winterholly SILVER, Hong Kong, Other
8 articles 0 photos 0 comments

In hundred thousand ways I’ve tried,
Sending arrows through great blue skies,
There they go swooping across my eyes,
I see they miss, and cease to fly.

I wonder. I wonder. I cannot cry,
For crying puts nothing much to mind.

Pull. Aim. Release. Soar.
And miss. Lines, lines.
Lying on grounds.

They lay quiet. Covered in dust.
Or dirt. Tainted feathers.
Worn out of balance.
Points go blunted. Still heavy. They are.
Marble-like heavy, lead on my palm.

Gather the scattered.
Pull up the strings.
Bring up the tension,
Bring on the pain.

Pull. Aim. Focus. Release. Soar.
And miss. Lines, lines.
Lying on grounds.

Wind goes whipping,
Chanting its song.
Cool breaths hushing against my sores
Breathe the silence, this less means more.

Steady, steady, steady, be still.
Listen, listen. Feel the wind.
Hear, the answers speaks softly within
Ready? Breath. Stretch. Release.


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