Gilded Spirit
Entombed in gold the heart cries freedom,
The soul allows with warning,
The archer draws his bow,
And lets fly at love.
The game is played with a knowing,
Sorrow will result with truth’s façade,
Upon the turret he stands watchful,
The hunt is on, she is there.
With closed eyes, the archer knocks,
Fate usurps the wanting,
Away the arrow, love its end,
Only exposed can the archer succeed.
A strike…can this be,
A tear rolls down, Is she?
The archer breathes again, the searching must stop,
And again the pain sears the heart, he is tired, so tired.
The archer glares to the heavens,
I am what you need; I become what you ask,
Strokes his finger, anger swells,
Blood seeps from the callused heart.
Archer stands again alone,
Solitary sentinel, the eyes bear no life,
One arrow remains,
Searching…ever searching.