Cupid of the Underworld
Draw taut the silken sinews of your hand.
Could drops of pity foil perfection's aim?
Your bow smiles to see its prey unmanned -
an arrow flies - the killer bears no blame.
Somewhere in a desert stands a man,
about to move his finger. Blood tastes the same
in every clime - from London to Afghanistan -
a bullet flies - the killer bears no blame.
Like Zeno's arrow spinning in eternal flight,
my mind retraces time to whence it came:
You live in darkness, hunt by moonlit night
and guiltlessly you smile but bear the blame
for every cruel cut this world endures,
for which injustice there is one redress:
the poisoned barb that breaks my skin is yours;
redeemer - my killer, my victim - pale Archeress.
YOU ARE READING
One Day the Sun: A Collection
PoetryA collection of poems entered for the Attys awards, 2012. The judges were kind enough to shortlist this work and I thank them for that recognition. Biggest thanks, however, go to you, dear reader.