you tell yourself with every arrow. i've been told 1000 times. sometimes lucky, moved by wrong intentions: they're immense and of a million kinds.
i'm sick, don't bother me now. it waxes and wanes by some alien logic. everything fell open to that. a fertile process, not choice but chance.
the child was taunted by immortal anguish. his brother's weeping specter passed. now he's grown into all the fur and vigor. flailing arms and fleeting weightlessness.
it's right thought, right action. inconclusive from what we now have. every problem yielded to that; one day we'll know and we'll leave nothing to chance.
the child was all unwarranted malice. he quickly learned to feel regret. still undaunted by the millionth crossing. far and further than what time excepts.
i know you know. don't follow, follow while you still can. you're the last one, you uphold the mantle. it's no one's fault, just as luck would have it.