Arrow

Arrow

 

When night crawled back like some polished Spring,

an arrow, limbo-ed in a dry land, sought for company

to share the sharpness of the un-forgiven, muddled

sunset once full of promises, now dazzled in sorrow.

 

I’d forget the day we walked together, in the crowd

we help them to make up their minds to judge us,

the un-welcomed Winter, strangest snow fell, upon

our eyelids fleeting scent of roses were captured.

 

Roses or ash? The reluctance of your shadow, frail,

slowly faded into the sky, like some foretold mythology.

It was then I remembered there was a gentleness called

freedom, and as I turned, the spinning arrow disappeared.  

 

2004-9-30