Companion Poem by (TPAC) Alexander Coppedge

Poetry, at desires, striking arrows within, declaring out a word, stand say, is to me, a voice heard, that land, a statement of free emotions, scribbled in line, written by wand and bow.

Love it to a calm, high wind breeze, activate this need be set intentions, aimed at a target, slowly pulling a red string, stretching, pull back, direction goes up that flow, low; release: its hum.

Archer, holding a picture in its view, with a direct lined sight which defeats evil, captures an angel's bad, saves love things; put in my heart: its rapture.

My weapon, beside me, in total readiness, hit to trap, assure the eye, observe this fact, mark strike, release at straight, slap at a target; stop bad intent: its cap.

Truth, by a call, summoned, should be heard, surging fall view in a dream, it's to conquer the wall there's, word spoken, touched by none, sounds; fulfill: arrow sliced ring.

Poetry, assisting my comfort, around me, relaxes, as a blanket, it's a fort to cover, shields put time, there I, when my site isn't precisely lined, to abort; know that's amiss: I'll cry.

Poetry, chalk out thought, began I to talk, launched an arrow, direct hit ideal to tingle, awaited time for my shot; sometime take a walk: doubts this consideration.

Her love strikes a clear spot, conveys a right, touches my fear, shreds the worst of things, senses feelings, pulls back my tears, sound; that's to sing: of a yearning heart.