The Arrow
Fleeing from the shrouded arrow
Vexed messages soaring from the sharpest of arrows,
Leaving shards of glass in their wake.
In your hunter’s aim, steadfast and unmoving.
When did I transform into a deer?
We must cease this quarrel before it’s too late, I fear.
Your skillfulness is so precise, like a bee to a hive.
You can find me in the stillness of the night.
We are from the same mother’s breast.
Have suffered the same loss,
For the past few years, it has been a mess.
Nothing good comes from being cross.
A battlefield of clouded perception.
Oh, that arrow is shrouded in more than just jagged stone-tipped.
Emotions overflowing with anguish and despair,
Jealousy and anger,
What a frightful scare.
Leaping towards safer ground,
For I refuse this deadly game,
No longer willing to be a target
For messages on arrows that
should not carry my name.
Thank you for reading.
