The Angle

under the safest of skies,
forever seems far too long
I’ll carry on strong, 
take it on the chin
I’m bruised, beaten 
by those of whom I’m hunting,
my angle is precise,
each cast 
within 
an inch 
of their life

this pursuit has kept me 
confined, a soft, silent
antidote, to protect
my fragile mind, 
I can’t promise much,
to those
of whom 
I seek

“I’ll guard your alter
and the water in which 
you sleep”

I’ll continue to pine
and wait for a sign,
from those
who lurk beneath
my angle is precise,
each cast 
within 
an inch 
of my life

far away 
from the synthetic world
no truer words been spoken,
time will eventually heal 
those of us who have broken,
forever seems far too long,
my angle is precise,
each cast 
will set us free
from the constraints 
within our life