One of my new casual resolutions is to write a poem a day, so here is the one for the painting I posted a picture of yesterday. I've made a few small changes to the picture. Primarily I was unhappy with the shadow on the large arrow or the materials on some of the others. Kathy's feedback made me think twice about one arrow too, so I moved it slightly, enough to keep the arc but avoiding rigid regularity. I never overpaint. Any historian x-raying my paintings will find only what they see. If it can't be erased and repainted I'll repaint the picture from the start. One blessing of the below zero temperatures is that the paint is staying wet for longer, so making these refinements was simple.
Moving down,
the archers fall.
Arrows raining pulled by fate.
Cascading parts of people call,
attempt escape.
None have escaped.
Gravity, the killer force,
drags.
Even words are pulled to hell.
Like heavy bags,
we are pulled as well.
To water, to steel,
to wood, and rock.
To air.
To no avail.
Sliding inevitably,
inexorably.
To tick.
To tock.
To our horrific fate,
which we can see coming.
Trapped in terror's check-mate.
Our only option is to wait.
