The Target And A Wall

Broad daylight Target in sight

What is the right thing

When one arches the bow string

Aiming for something real

Shooting at a life to steal

I hurt when I do not look through the sight

As my body bends into an endless fight

Striving for a target in which to track

Though constantly loosing grip, always falling back

Loosing a handle on my very bow

As the arrow I clutch, I cannot let go

Aiming for something greater, something more

Though consistently blocked by a closed door

The arrow flies free, as does my release

Hitting a target so far away, landing in one piece

Where do I go now with an empty bow in hand

I am merely an archer, with no arrow to now stand

The sound of company leaves me in peace

As I am now alone, under God’s tree Broad daylight has returned, actually there all along For what do I do with my bow, its emptiness feels wrong

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