The Archer
The longbow fits nicely into your palm.
A weapon crafted by the finest men.
It was meant to provide, here it is
reaping those who are born-again.
Your footsteps are silent on the crisp leaves,
a talent I never got to truly appreciate.
Your shrewd gaze swept the dawning forest,
looking.
No. You aren’t looking, you’re searching.
But you won’t find him.
Like the words on the tip of your tongue,
he’s gone.
You have a hunter heart in a prey bird home,
Deep into the woodlands, we go.
There is no peace for you and I,
because of what roars in the night.
Still, your heart is a fire unwilling to die.
Step after step, you survey the sky.
For anything, mayhaps his lost hat
or a torn shirt.
But as the light fades
so does your hope.
Night after night, little by little.
On the last sunset,
you pull your bow taut and pray,
that your arrow finds its way.
