My arrow is my eye,
it looses with a sigh,
I follow it and know where it
will land before it flies.

Crunching armor, broken blades batter,
steel’s a charmer, it doesn’t matter —
a soldier’s game is rough and unrefined;
but an archer’s blow is dealt with her mind.

Once in the knee,
twice in the chest,
go for the throat
and your chances are best —
pick off the weak,
put down the frail,
mock the muscle
aim through the mail!

My arrow is my eye,
it glares across the sky,
I follow it and see through it
for the arrow, true, is I.

© 2015 Stellular Scribe