The Message of the Arrows

  I passed a man, clothed in white,
  two arrows in his chest,
  shaking, as he spoke to me.

I was alarmed, and told him to rest
  but his ears were shut to me.
I cried a warning out to him
      but his eyes would not see.

He laughed, declared life perfect,
    and rattled a list of liturgies;
  promised the prayer of the Lord,
and decided we were free.

I stood in speechless awe
  and pointed to where I’d been,
to the furnace that refines the gold
and steals from man his breath

He danced in response,
  pointing to the gold he had left,
saying something of a wager with God
  and how he’d obviously won the bet.

Their wager had been a wild one,
    to be sure;
  if the man could make his own way to heaven,
  if he could cheat his way past death,
    God would let him have his way
    and give him what was left .

So he turned and he ran
    certain in his man-made path
  two arrows bleeding him dry,
  running towards a cliff.

  I sat and wept, then
  for the people who were completely blind
  but thought they could see;
  for those who were sure they could hear,
  but where completely deaf.

People so sure that they were free,
    dieing of the arrows in their chests.