poetry is a well worn promise,
which is to say:
the years of poems
scratched into my life,
are a storybook of truths.

victory is a burning bullseye,
which is to say:
the goal of life is a spot
which is covered
in fear and flames,
which we can only
aim for
through the water that is hope

the mind is a well worn thunderstorm,
which is to say:
the rain of my considerations
is ongoing
rapid
and thunderous

poetry is a divided bullseye,
which is to say:
the perfect poem
is something shattered,
and all our arrows
land in new
places.