Sleet

Two paths lay under my bare feet,

One made of fire and the other of sleet.

Three men bar the way,

Loathsome and eyes ablaze.

Settled deep into the breast bone,

The arrow finds its home.

When will we know,

That it is too late.

Reviews

[The Twin Arenas]

I used to have a dream where this Indian slit my throat while I was hiding behind a bush. Like, it was in the olden days, this dream.

This reminded me of that. Good piece here.