Wednesday 12 July 2017

On free will

In kid days we were always cool

Though waiting to be shot

As if from a bow at history


Old men know the fleeting path of arrows

And how many miss their mark

Advising only to appreciate the arc

And the view from there,

With the harried battle far below.


Arrows that land, impotent in furrows

Or twisted to the back of a horse’s knee

Taking down no kings nor plunder

Had a least their moment there

Between release and fall

To imagine a softening enemy

That they may retire in.


Arrows cannot choose their bow,

It takes a helpful archer to know

The wind, the field and in the letting go

The adamantine nature of the foe.