What Makes Her Evil

Suggestions and coercions

Resorts of a target yearning for repair

Why would you ask the demolition crew?

Don’t call the arsonist to put out his fire

As you would the dog to cease barking

It makes sense

Too much to pray the hunter restore his kill


If I stand and say I’m dulled

Rough and blunt

Primitive arrowhead to fatal point

Apollo’s acquisition

Strung against the tension and pulled away

By the arm of my ideal

Strong and invincible


Through the air


Toxicity and incompatibility

Hindering movement and ascension

Heavy like the rough stones

Tipping the rough wood in the rough quiver

Piled together, waiting

Capable, waiting

Purposed and prepared

Stay silent like stone and wood


Into trees and into targets

Lifeless and life

Into feeling

Deep and immovable

Holding arteries in place




Dying breed

Incompatible with projectiles


Arrows make their enemies…

Just that

Arrows make enemies

Rough and primitive

Unfeeling, uncaring, primed

Waiting to be fired

Author's Notes/Comments: 

First attempt at my first poem