There sits in the highlands
A bow drawn and arced towards destiny
It knocks an arrow, a soul,
And fires it off
Into the forever-gone;
Future.
A bow of self
Drawn and arced towards destiny
Fires a shot,
A star
Into a sky peppered with lights.
Propped on a rock by the seashore,
A bow drawn and arced towards destiny
Fires off a bolt, a hope,
That skims the waves
And longs for its target;
Horizon.
Love is
sometimes here always coming
Dreams are
insignificant magnanimous personal
Hope is
allowed only in the manifested infinitive
Life is
some strange and circumstantial combination