Flowers and Arrows

Multicolored hands dissolved the pain, that rose within me You were there; certain you'd win your part in the ring Condescension became sparks I used as light to see I held to my song you sought to silence, by your sting Once again, your buzz faded and you fell flat Hold firm the religious reins of your horse, I say I offered flowers; you strutted, and then turn back I gave you your day, with garland and songs unforced Self-made pedestal holds no sap like earth's wood You may think me soft as gel, nay! I am mahogany! Papa was carver of antiques from those trees, you understood... His hands were guided by the Source, the root of my recovery. *