An archers end

As an archer that prepares himself,
I've filed my quiver to its limit.
I've placed in it every arrow in sight
So that this contest, I may win it. 

Now I never launched an arrow
That I felt wouldn't hit it's mark
So I oft find myself staring at the target
Well after the sunset, in the dark

I still have all of my arrows
Like a man ready for war
But I'm not sure if they'll reach their target
Because they never have before

I thought that keeping them in my hand
They would be more likely to take flight
But it only changed them from being behind me
To being located in my sight

 

I want not to let them fly
As they cannot be easily replaced
For if they hit but bring not the end
Then the wounded target would have to be chased. 

I would be left then to run in the dark
With these arrows filling my hand
And me grasping in this dark reality
And reaching as ever I can. 

And if I ever encountered a beast
Whose form was more sturdy than my own
It would certainly use its teeth
To rip my flesh right of the bone. 

So I stand here and I consider
Returning the arrows to their place
And why I entered  this contest
And all the time that I did waste

But I would like to draw a single arrow
And send it to its home
That I may return a victor
And stand then not alone.