Cupid Is A Warrior

On a hot summers day, her in a depressive state, grabbed pen and paper, and opened the gate.      
A cemetery ready, the scene matching mood, firey scribble, mark out...then redo.        
Tears flooding lines, a gun in her bag, if poetry didn't work, shed trigger hurt dead.        
Looking up to blue skies, screaming to God, Please just let me die!!        
Peripheral vision catching glimpse of a figure in the trees, she knew someone was there, but who could it be?        
Eyes straight ahead, her sleeve wiping tears, to get a better view of the being who's shadow was near.        
Grabbing her phone in a frantic mad feign, a hundred takes in a second, she knew this wasn't a dream.        
All of the sudden, a buck enters the scene...        
With grace he gated across the meadows tall grass, her attention now turned, it happened so fast. A quick snap of the new wonder embracing her eyes, so majestic, so brave, and no fear in his stride.        
After a few minutes he faded from view, and her heart calm as ever, like somebody knew.        
A relief in her soul, and peace on her side, she packed up her things, no longer wishing to die.        
As she made it back home, pondering events.        
She uploaded her pictures, and there caught a glimpse, of an Indian chief, head dress and long bow, I had interrupted his hunt, he interrupted my flow.        
Both of us there for death, only his had noble meaning, he was just trying to eat, I was broken and screaming.        
They say cupid is the angel of love, I say cupid is an Indian warrior chief sent from above.        
Unto this day, I keep his picture safe, our aims were both off through irony and fate.