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
