The Art of Archery

The goal is the pursuit

The aim is pointed at the → means

As an arrow whose tip says-go forward →

>>>My tail feathers drag you down<<<

                                         If freedom was voice

                                             let it fly with motive,

                                                   words from the quiver,

                                        speech is aimed at your heart

                               shot from the bow of pliable opinion

                                             and if the goal were freedom

                                  there can be no aim, a shot in the dark

                      seeking a warm body, swimming through cold air

               hangs on your breath, steady, waiting for you to be ready

                               to let your grip go, open palms, holding hymns

                  held afloat by a lofty timeline,  gravity holds her weight

                                                                           in parabolic perpetuity

                                                                      ↔ arrows chasing despair ↔

                                                                        releasing boomerangs in air

                                                                                  aimed at freedom

                                                                         hunting down happiness,

                                                             caught by one’s own loud trap

                                                                        the pursuit perishes,

                                                                  passion plummets

                              blue dried blood on the tip

     of your sharp tongue.

Image of Archery competitor at the 1900 Olympic Games via Wikimedia Commons, Public Domain. 

Chasing our tails

The problem with the pursuit of happiness
                                     is that it is;
                                     a toil ridden sweaty hot pursuit,
                                     a source-less slippery stench,
One that chases after happiness forgot it's too fast to catch.

Instead we chase our tails, catching a whiff
of a finish line reminiscent of balderdash.

As school children, we are taught in P.E.
                                    that running is healthy,
being faster is better, stronger and longer are nonpareil-
                                    little champions know about the first loser.
While perfecting running on empty in inalienable circles-
                                   where spirals suck you in.
The starting line begins,
                                    when we race time.
We play tag, choosing the easiest one to get,
                                    then let the others worry about “It”.
When we graduate into adulthood,
                                    recess and foot races are no longer requisite,
we only exercise our volition
                                    when we are being chased, 
as the object of hot pursuit.

So many wonder if they chose the wrong path that leads
                                     to a dead-end having no thru exit.
All of our roads are dead-ends.
So many are sick and tired 
                                     of being sad and fat.
Anchored with obesity to our happy oblivion,
                                     sedentary, leaden with obligation,
dwellers in the city of Circumstance,
                                     in slums with condemned hearts-
they should move-
                                     but are often frozen in icy ennui.
One must be cold before searching for fire.
Burning bridges from Discontent on the way out,
                                      a one-way ticket is the only available option-
blurring what's left of a vacant vista, right-
                                      no longer
where you left it.
The right of hot pursuit,
                                       is just an alternate route.
You must know what you seek,
before Happiness gives you a peak.


Image of painting by Giulio Romano [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons, Mars chasing Adonis from Venus's Pavillion.