Dreaming of me,
Enrobed with the wounds of
arrows drawn, dipped and fired
blackened with fire,
not malice.

My own is nocked, behind
bloodied fingers, trembling
torn away illusions of faceless enemies
faceless foes against my terrible, shining light

Weary eyes squint through the blooded haze at the target, fingers
twitching in the practiced ease of murder.
A deep breath -

and out with a prayer to my friend, as
the shaft soars into the clouded horizon.

- Phobos

Penned by my hand on the 22nd of Midautumn, in the year 127 MA.