Arrow
Stub towers in the distance, riders the blasted moorAgainst the horizonFickle promises of treaty, fatal harbingers of war,Futile horizonsSwirl as one in this flight, this mad chase,This surge across the marshy mud landscapeUntil the meaning is forgotten.Hood masks the eager face, skin stretchedAnd sallow,Headlong into the chilling night, as swiftAs any arrow.
Feet against the flagstones, fingers scrabblingAt the lock,Craving protection.'Sanctuary!' croaks a voice,Half-strangled by the shockOf its rejection.Shot the bolt in the wall, rusted the key;Now the echoes of all frightfull memoryIntrude in the silence.What a crawl against the slopeDark loom the gallowsOne touch to the chapel door,How swiftly comes the arrow.
"Compassion" you plead, as thoughThey kept it in a boxThat's long since been empty.I'd like to help you somehow,But I'm in the self-same spot:My condition exempts me.We are all on the run on our knees;The sundial draws a line upon eternityAcross every number.How long the time seems, how dark the shadow,How straight the eagle flies,How straight towards his arrow.How long the night isWhy is this passage so narrow?How strange my body feels,Impaled upon the arrow.