A Poem for Archers by Anonymous

A target pinned and solid-seeming
but mine is all in motion
I draw the bowstring back
and farther back
Were I to let it fly would it sink deep?

But now my muscles shake
fingers torn against the string
velocity all misaimed
I cannot decipher which target is my own

Can I split this arrow with the force of my own wishing,
shower the sky with a quiverful,
live out each peculiar path?

Or must I choose now
release my hold
wide-eyed or blindfolded
poised or hamfisted

Should I lower the bow?

Anonymous, May 2013

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