A new poem by Ross McCague

Bows Forged

Bows forged in the mind,
Lance hearts within hearts:
One who lives and One who is.
Arrows to the string attached
in the sender’s thought fly straight.
The twisted tip rips through the heart
At an invisible distance from the start.
I suppose the centre never really moves:
It is solely you and you and you.
The target is keenly wrapped, carefully cued;
The patient archer waits before he shoots.
The oddest thing of all is the sum,
The killer and the kill are one.