Black Arrow

An arrow birthed of soul did grasp his hand,

And pulled from shoulder as if quiver were.

A grunt which woke the sleeping sanguine bird

From power draining, chakra’s black demand.


Then drew he tight the twisted, tattered strand,

The singe of calloused skin and bone incurred,

Its only limitation the chauffeur

Of fiercest thought, the mind’s extreme command.


Then thousands cross the buzz of mental script;

To find moist worthy culprit, brandished wrath

Does sweep them each with poignant flashing blip,

Yet do not any find themselves in path.

So, loosed he, arrow, from the prison grip:

To missile, verdict’s onus give, he hath.


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