Monday, November 22, 2010

The Archer

Bow tightly strung, shoulders taut
I stand poised on mountains
With gravely shaking legs
A seasoned eye and mind my gain

I take note
Of lethal acrobatic height
Pluck splinters to their bitter end
And sing all manner of warbled lullabies

Stalwart grace and knees well spent
Shaping small earthen hearts toward infinite Divine
With ears that hear what is never said
I point thoroughly to places hard to find

After years of valiant deposit
And sanding down closets of doubt
My bullets form well below the sand
Their eyes and minds in route

In distances felt more than seen
Measure taken of all failed stands
Lifting hands to check the wind
Lifting wings to check for span

Through nights of brave and cautious razing
Smoothing the onset of every hope
And offering the killing of every kind of loving
But to firstly place that One withstanding grope

Carving sharp heads to bind to blazing hearts
Wringing from flint the finest work
And circling every shadowed angle
Watching imperfections or stony dirt

My muscled years of squinted eye
And little hearts of trusting shape
Sent forth with quick fast arcing flame
Sights confirmed for deadly aim

Letting great hands move me
Through positions of every honing sense
My hands holding with the ease of an archer
An arsenal to silence the largest defense

Jillian Rose

"As arrows are in the hand of a warrior,
so are the children of one's youth"
Psalm 127:4

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