Companion Poem by (TPAC) Alexander Coppedge

Poetry, striking arrows at desires, felt within, saying stand; declaring out a word, heard is to me a voice, land view: free statements of emotions, sighted in written lines, with my wand pen, and bow.

Love, activating this need, sends a low wind breeze, it to calm; by intention, aim slowly at this target, pulling a string: stretching it back, direction goes up that flow, release, hitting, its hum.

Archer, holding the view, captures its picture with a direct line of sight; his aim is to defeat evil, entrap an angel's bad: save loved things; comfort my heart, its rapture.

My weapon, in total readiness, beside me, aimed the trap; assuring the eye, it observes this fact, mark strike: line straight release, slap at a target, stop bad intent, its cap.

Truth summoned by a call, surges, should be heard; fall view in a dream, to conquer this wall, spoke a word: touched by none, therein, slicing sound, fulfills and arrow ring.

Poetry, it's an effort to cover, comfort as a blanket, assist endeavors around me, relax, shield put time, there I, when my site isn't precisely lined: to abort, know that's amiss, I'll cry.

Poetry, chalk thought out, I began to talk, launched an arrow, directed a hit, ideal to tingle, awaited time for clear shot: sometime take a walk, doubting this consideration.

Her love strikes nearly, conveys a right, shreds the worst of things; touches my fear, senses feelings, pulls back my tears: echoing that song, of a yearning heart.