The Archer

I have built a tower next to the sea.
Its windows are many,
But its doors are none.

It took my body to build,
But this arm's length has mangled my mind.
I have pressed the golden sun to the bottom of the salty sea,
And I have pushed the shuddering stars into the midnight sky.
I have rammed the righteous with my roar.
And the sand had become barren,
And only the wind and the waves were allowed to whisper with me.

This tower I built has become bearing.
By the light of the moon,
With salt stained brick by brick I stacked the shell until the sun returned.
Its wall stack where the blue meets white
And where courage meets fight.

At full arm's length,
From the windows high, my arrows fly,
And can reach all that wonder what lies below my crashing waves of sorrow.

Within these walls I sit and stammer.
Pacing and climbing to the top,
Glancing at the world that reaches with will.
They reach to touch the burning brick that cages the flames that rage within.
They reach to feel the frozen tears that drift and drop from sorrow up top.

They reach, but I teach.
These arrows fly high and strike the sky.
They soar below,
And pierce the hands that want to know.

But from high above,
My arms have grown weary.
I have fired fear to keep my path clear,
But the hands that reach can still feel my tears.

Know that this tower is mine to burn inside.
And when the last arrow flys,
Let the flames reach me high.
I will live with this arm's length,

But I will die without pride.