Andrew McAllister

The Bow - Poem by Andrew McAllister

The bow hath shot
by mysterious archers hands,
And finally the arrow rests,
within immortal celestial it lands
The bow hath shot,
sailed through this lurid world,
ever-pressing arrow, unfurled visions of death
about my head whirl

to a mark unknown by a mortal vessel
of flesh my soul will no more wrestle

Be it now decomposing flesh rot away,
but my memory endures
Permeating the world as sun illuminates day
The bow hath shot,
And the wound it wrought,
Brought about by the arrow was all for naught.
I give you my oath, my word, my decree.
You will not advance with ill omens towards me
Watch as my spirit quells the shadow of Tyranny
And you will know you are not my enemy
Pray, pray, pray for the day
pray for the clay to wash away
So the crops you reap are fit for voids day

I pine by the candle until
the light of Thursday
Hits my tear-soaked cheek in such a way
That the marrow in my bones is subject to decay

Please, don't forget about 'us'
The words slithering through my head are rife with distrust
For a thousand years I'd let my body collect dust, to hint at the tender subject of the sacred rust.

As I watch my only home crumble and combust
I cannot help but think of the first time our lips touched

That solemn moment of universal marriage
Long has it been
Since you were taken by the horse-drawn carriage

But I soldier on, yes I know it is my job,
Though behind closed doors, I quietly sob

Until the bony hand of death starts to turn the doorknob,
And soul it takes, from body it will rob.

The bow hath shot,
And the wound it wrought
will be shouted through eons 'It was all for naught! '

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Poem Submitted: Wednesday, February 6, 2013

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