Image for the poem Arrowhead


There are things you just know
their familiarity breeding recognition
from long forgotten remembrance;
a black pair of sentient eyes
emerging from the forest
having observed you for an hour
beneath the dense under-story.

Counting the leaves that jumped
to their death into your flaxen hair
brittle ribs sticking like feathers
from a stranded web in the wind.
Gauging the split of water around the boulder
youíre sitting upon Ė your face distant,
engineering a means of expression
to express a means of sacred honoring
what falls short of honorably expressing.

You donít know how you know things Ė
like how youíre being watched
you just accept this feeling as truth
whether ever confirmed or not.
That some things have no explanation
readily understood (perhaps remembered
would be a better term) by anyone.

So, when the arrowhead splits the ventricles
of standard reasoning in half, and the shaft
follows through clean from the release
leaving doubt and indecision freely bleeding,
your existence flashes before your eyes
ripped metal against the crest opened wide.

You see destiny wading slowly toward you
for the first time in your grappling Life
-- as a Light that canít be defined.

And with nothing but intuition and trust
that youíll never fully understand, accept
the extension of his outstretched palm
without a single word or second thought. †
Written by Ahavati
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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