I Am Your Child

I am your child.

I am your child,

I am your arrow,

and you the bow that throws me to flight,

mighty hands of God rest upon you.

But the arrow is thin, and feeble,

unsharpened point, so fragile.

How young, despite her years.

Harsh wind sways, thunder splits

her wood wounded.

The arrow lands not where she wants to,


the lush Eden, without human in sight.

She weeps.

The bow is griefed,

the God is silent,

and the tears that drip from

the bow’s feathers aiming to the sky

are little droplets of rain

that drench from dark clouds above.


One Response

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