Bow and Arrow
A marksman artistry
Mangle with the tentative diffidence
For I am an arrow
And when I am released
It would torment to miss
And sometimes I am a bow
When hesitance prevails
And swoon over my foliage
Of releasing the puissant
Harbinger of perdition
When the taut heaving sought for abeyance
My own gears would arrest
By compulsion to unfurl the curtains
And give away the sparrow-chance
That I am the bow and arrow all the same
Seizing, repulsing, and detaining
My own emancipation.
poem by Norman Santos
Added by Poetry Lover
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