Tribal Love

[Underground_Network]

You are the oaken bow,
I am the clinquant arrow.
That is definite,
Like time.

The question remains though:
Who is going to pull your string
And fire me away?

And ultimately,
Where will I land?

The hot sand?
The calm, blue ocean?
Or the heart of the oak tree
(You're place of origin)?

I fear I will land
Too far away
From where I belong.

But more so I fear
That I will never land
At all,
For no one will tug
On your heart strings
And send me soaring
Through the night sky
Deep into the turbidity
That is
Tribal love.