Arrow
When night crawled back like some polished Spring,
an arrow, limbo-ed in a dry land, sought for company
to share the sharpness of the un-forgiven, muddled
sunset once full of promises, now dazzled in sorrow.
I’d forget the day we walked together, in the crowd
we help them to make up their minds to judge us,
the un-welcomed Winter, strangest snow fell, upon
our eyelids fleeting scent of roses were captured.
Roses or ash? The reluctance of your shadow, frail,
slowly faded into the sky, like some foretold mythology.
It was then I remembered there was a gentleness called
freedom, and as I turned, the spinning arrow disappeared.
2004-9-30
