Vexed messages soaring from the sharpest of arrows,
Leaving shards of glass in their wake.
In your hunter’s aim, steadfast and unmoving.
When did I transform into a deer?
We must cease this quarrel before it’s too late, I fear.
Your skillfulness is so precise, like a bee to a hive.
You can find me in the stillness of the night.
We are from the same mother’s breast.
Have suffered the same loss,
For the past few years, it has been a mess.
Nothing good comes from being cross.
A battlefield of clouded perception.
Oh, that arrow is shrouded in more than just jagged stone-tipped.
Emotions overflowing with anguish and despair,
Jealousy and anger,
What a frightful scare.
Leaping towards safer ground,
For I refuse this deadly game,
No longer willing to be a target
For messages on arrows that
should not carry my name.
This was originally posted on Medium.
About the Creator
Loving Wife, Mom, Dog Mom- A Dyslexic dreamer who never thought I could read or write. But life changed, and I conquered my fears. I am an artist, photographer, wordsmith and illustrator.