I’ve spent the hours, days and years
to build my armour tightly;
through night and day I’ve kept it near
but now it rusts, just slightly.

He dips and swirls and flutters by,
his arrow-point is guiding–
no matter, still, how hard I try
he finds me deep in hiding.

The windows that I don’t look out
and doors I dare not go through,
laughter and tears I’ve been without
have given his arrow view.

It finds a way past all I’ve made
with careful spells it’s under:
Emotion is a searing blade
that rips defense asunder.

And though I try to make a stand
it pierces straight through the bone.
I tear it from my heart by hand,
but too late and I’m alone.

-B.W. Gladney


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