The mind wandered like a broken arrow,
Desire crept in with its tendrils narrow,
Twining with the present and pulling me away
far, far from the still winds of May.
Away from the sun, close to the haze,
There laid out, was a deathly maze
of traps so brazen, I shuddered to enter,
Unwilling to meet again, the tormentor.
The breath intensified as the heart pounded,
The transgressed arrow deliriously floundered,
Picking up the pieces, I find myself thick
in the garden of snares and fences that trick.
I edged past an exploding shell,
Dodged a bullet running through hell,
While from a distance, I hear an alluring call,
Unaware, I scarper in hope towards my fall.
The oasis I sought was an illusion of dew,
Glamored by the melody and the pitch so new,
The psyche unknown had staggered through,
Reviving the foolish old wounds, not so few.
The broken arrow never finds the mark,
Or so I'm reminded by the tormentor very stark,
The mirror, the light, the shadows and sense,
together sing the insistent tale sans pretense.
I try to patch the arrow in time,
Before the dew disappears amidst the chimes
of a clock that sprints but never bends,
Only to realize that a broken arrow never mends.