Say that
the arrows pointed at each other
Won’t shatter if their sharp points meet
And feathered ends won’t fray
The moment they leave the string.
Shout that
They were meant to collide
And their paths are predetermined
As they tear through the air,
They’ll only ever point one way
Whisper that
They’re meant to be
And something grand will come of it-
And pull the string as far back as you can
Before it snaps
Say it five times fast.
Poetry