Aaron Ross
Speed of Light
Beating pulse, like a clock in your chest.
It is ticking, ticking like a timed race.
Leading up to this, you’ve found such zest.
But out of time, sweat drips down your face.
Your steadiness: a still and sunny sea.
Hush baby, hush and sharpen your eyes.
Raising your bow, you begin to see,
The eagle’s arrow glide through the skies.
The deer; in arrested flight.
Rustling, shuffling, distant.
Hit with the speed of light, such might, such plight.
No longer nonresistant.
Triumph, like sweet scents of clover.
Breathing, breathing in the air,
As you approach your take over.
Bow still in hand, none can compare.
With no time to spare,
Shame and regret set in like a collapsing chair.