of slings and arrows

I don’t ask questions anymore

feeling as I often do

like some purveyor of disease

preying on the lonely and the weak


no pity for this medicine man

gone from healer to assassin

through misuse of his elixir

by the desperately dispassionate


they crawl to temporary shelter

seeking but a moment’s pleasure

unaware their sanctuary

will lead to pitiful addiction


I confess my indifference

to their life’s pace and circumstance

is probably in part to blame

for this increasingly sad state


but I never knew regret

till I saw one reduced to tears

for loving as I imagined

when first my arrow hit its mark


surely there is some mistake in this

in the affliction of a pure heart

whose love but persists and inspires

this realm’s voice of the arts and Heaven


if there is no reward for such love 

mine is merely a failed enterprise

centuries of verse are hollowed

and faith is but a willful blindness


so I don’t ask questions anymore

but grow tired and unsteady

having suffered this sling too long

feeling ashamed each time I see you cry


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