The Long Shot

Trying to cross an old burnt bridge.
The wood is burnt, the ropes tethered with fire.
I’m running over the shaking bridge, as fast as I can
Leaving behind the baggage, being as light as I can.
I know nothing, of what lies on the other end,
But I take the plunge.

I’m jumping off the cliff
going as far as the rope of hope takes me.
I’m searching what I dropped
in the darkness of the valley below.
I know nothing, of the length of the rope,
if what I dropped is alive or dead.
But I take the plunge.

I’m searching the dark room
full of dust, cobwebs, paper boxes.
With the candle light in my hand,
I look for chapters I tore off,
I look for answers to questions I never asked before.
I know nothing, of how long the candle light will last,
if the room I look for is the right one.
But I take the plunge.

I’m holding the bow firmly,
I pull the last arrow from my pack.
The aim is distant, changing sails,
the fog makes my vision blurry.
I’m aiming for the bull’s eye,
that’s haunting and teasing me.
I know nothing, of the strength in my arms,
the precision of my archery.
But I take the plunge.

For heavens! I take the long shot.
Speeding is the arrow now,
Beating loud is my heart.
Earnestly waiting the sound,
When it will hit the bull’s eye,
My long shot.