PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

I pull an arrow from my quiver
The target lined up
As I ready for the shot

I feel the rough string under my fingers
The shaft of the arrow cold and thin
The fletching between my fingers
As I ready for the shot

The target, my bow, my arrow,
Are the only things in this world
I release my fingers from the string
My arrow flies
Into the heart.