I am a weapon of his design
A bow, I bow to no man.
I quiver, not in fear, it is an exhibition of my strength.
Crafted by eternal hands
Who knew from the first moment of my life -
who I was, who I am and who I would be.
Cut from a sappling of the yew tree
I hum a proud song, I exhibit my beauty.
On this fine work of art, there is no space for erosion.
I refuse it.
and yet, And Yet , AND YET
You cling dearly to me.
You multiply and conquer
There is no room for the both of us.
No room to breath or rejoice.
There is no space, its you or me -
and I choose me, I want me.
You show no prejudice
Your choice of tyranny has no boundries
My mind, my bosom, my life giving uterus
you are parasite, you are hardship.
The bow gathers its strength
The yew wood strains its limbs
the string is pulled back, ready to spring.
Ready to shoot forth missiles of mass happiness,
These aim to help you understand.
To help you, my loved ones , to be strong.
This is a battle that cannot be lost,
Because we fight it together.
we are weapons in this war,
And with every victory fought for,
another day, week , month, year,
is each assigned a prayer,
To thank the earths greatest bowyer.
#clicking my fingers (^^,) I love this poem.
ReplyDeleteah ah imagine!!! took me so long to answer lol thankyou chippi
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