forged

Life between margins

Draft torn regret and mistakes

Have courage to Live

marksman

Missing the mark is never the goal

For the marksman knows the target approach

Intensely meticulous, little gadgets and things

Peering through corridors and windowsills

He stands solitaire, never knowing he was there

Hidden behind the steeple, on the roof

Placing his spot on an angle

Where he can shoot

If he misses then what is he then?

Marksmen will pity him

If he bows to strive for better

He is bound for jobs for lowly critters

All this sketch and diameters and measure

Hone the skill for mere progression

Nights gone and days aplenty

His hands and skin meld, ready at the ready