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Arrows

Cupid's Arrows


Arrows

Cupid's arrows fly at will,
Seeking hearts to wound and thrill.
The object of a heart's desire,
a soul, ablaze with burning fire.
No one knows when love will come,
or which direction the arrow's from.
So we sit and watch and wait,
until the arrow strikes; true and straight.

The arrows fly toward their marks,
wounded hearts, flying sparks.
Hearts, bruised, raw and sore,
bursting love, wanting more.
Beating, pulsing, throbbing true,
beloved reaches, bleeding through.
So we love and ache and care,
because the arrows reach us there.

Cupid's art affects us all,
big, little, great or small.
Hearts, blinded, made deaf, too.
Love's power pierces through,
deep inside of me and you.
Boring deep, turning screw.
No one left, all have known
love has found us all alone.

© 2014 ajwrites57
A Long
❤ ❤ ❤ 

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