18.02.24
The leaden spear head of words was shot suddenly
From my bow, finding its way to your heart.
Perhaps not instantly, but I can see the fear gradually
Seeping into your veins, a beautiful agony. That is
What you are. This game is what I desired, but
I didn't consider the fall. I didn't expect my feeble
Breath and quivering hand to grasp this moment, this microcosm.
I didn't want to be a hunter, but I have hunted you down. Proud,
Meaningless words worked wonders; I hated them so, and sense that
You must too. And now here we are. The marsh of a broken
Week holds us at bay, and for all I know you might as well
Fly away in the time it takes for the hay to die in the sunless
Sky. I want to be nearer, yet not in this instance. I should
Not have let the arrow fly in such an instant, barely hesitant, with only
Faint resistance on the string which I pulled back in a fit of power.
A result I was after, a result I got, but will I reap the reward
From it which I poorly sought?
Maybe I should have seen you fly a little longer. Seen your
Iridescent, refractory wings beat to your heart a little stronger.
I was scared you would dart away too soon, out of my admiring
Sights, or out of range. But maybe you would have found me
Stood here,
Waiting
My arms not clasped to the hunting bow, but ready for your perch.
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