Fallen beings of broken wings,
blessings buried in man's twisted emotions.
A revival rare and glorious
comes from remnants,
left long ago;
of shattered arrows,
of Cupid's desire.

A peace, a love, a fear.
The three parts of the arrow.
I takes two to reunite the fragments,
fragments of something less physical,
yet as constant and tangible as air.
Always there whether you realize it or not.

A curse, a thought, a belief,
or maybe a misconception.
A toxin with a sweet scent,
or rather a flower of every color
that bears heavy thorns.

I know of such a flower,
and I know of it's thorns.
I know of it's toxin,
and I know of it's scent,
but I long for it's taste.
A love of peace.
a peace of fear,
and a fear of love.

I love you.
I will love you tdoay and tomorrow,
perhaps now and forever,
but can you mend the shattered arrow?