This poem, written in 1984, was included in a collection of poems entitled Within Ourselves. It was the third such collection of poem all written within a span of a few months. I had never written poetry before. I believe this outpouring of verse was for a reason, and the subject matter of some of the poems, including this one, foreshadowed that purpose. I dedicated the collection to my father on his 75th birthday.
I am a bow and arrow The bowstring is drawn back Quivering with tenseness The arrow eager for flight. I am the archer Carefully drawing aim On the distant target Of a world at peace, without fear With abundance for all. How we all yearn for flight! For action, to be doing Moving along a path. But the arrow, once released, Cannot be brought back. For good or ill, it is on its way. And so with infinite patience My soul and I take aim May our aim be true!