Arrow’s Edge

if cold rain fell in arrow heads
it would pierce
even to the marrow
of the soul.
 
it must have fell on Eros' anvil
as he pressed his blade
         hot steel cut
         by a cold night
 
and down that slender point
it flowed determinately,
like blood to the heart,
stinging into metal
with harsh liquidity.
 
Eros forges
 
because even Apollo knows
that nobody bleeds
until they've been pierced.

Written in 2000-something? I feel like I’ve had this poem forever. I’m sure I wrote it in my early 20s, when I was on my mythology kick. Let’s say somewhere between 2003-2007? Surface level: This poem is about Eros (aka: Cupid) forging his love arrows. Personal level: I’m pretty sure it’s about how much I wished to be in love, but wasn’t yet. (Hang in there, past-me! You’ll get there.)

freestyle, myth, fantasy, non-rhyming, romance, short