Too Much

I breathe too loudly in these woods.

My hand, clutching onto my bow,

Awaits my command.

My arrow is by the latter’s side, while its mates

jump around in the quiver hoisted on my back.

The deer runs off, realizing my presence behind him.

I don’t pursue. Instead, I focus on the muchness.

Reflecting now, just seems like a call out of existentialism.

I know my essence yet my presence in many ways taints it.

If only I had the strength to realize the part that I was missing.

Maybe it is too much to ask from those above.

But maybe

It is just enough.

Much too quickly I fall under the spell of the hunt,

And too forcefully do I exult my energies,

My spirit flying with the night orbs of the sky,

Joy carrying their flight, music brightening their glow.

Maybe it is too much to ask,

But maybe it is too little if I don’t.

I know the limitation of my grief,

Of my pain,

And of my fears.

But I know, that asking to see beyond that,

Should not be too much.