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kenpepitonPoems
An old boy's philosophy, ambles up arrow in one hand, strung bow in the other… Aim at nothing, you cannot miss. I watch this idea, nothing more, no thing, a thought… nock the shaft, draw back the bow, but not as I expected, not as I saw ahead, not aiming at the skies, outmost limit… no, this arrow aimed at me. Or was it you? Mustabin you, or nothing, as intended, I was aiming at nothing, to prove I could still hit it as easily as once, when I was young, and at the brink… of next, laughing
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Mar 20, 2021
Mar 20, 2021 at 3:11 PM UTC
and at the brink... of next, laughing
An old boy's philosophy, ambles up arrow in one hand, strung bow in the other… Aim at nothing, you cannot miss. I watch this idea, nothing more, no thing, a thought… nock the shaft, draw back the bow, but not as I expected, not as I saw ahead, not aiming at the skies, outmost limit… no, this arrow aimed at me. Or was it you? Mustabin you, or nothing, as intended, I was aiming at nothing, to prove I could still hit it as easily as once, when I was young, and at the brink… of next, laughing
The joy of an outlet, for a dammed river, desert river, wide, and mostly dry but for these thousand year winters that are so rare...
#evolve#die#live#revolve#redo#redux
kenpepiton
Written by
kenpepiton
77/M/Pine Valley CA
Mar 20, 2021
Mar 20, 2021 at 3:11 PM UTC
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