After tears of clouds I softly show, A painted bridge with no place to go. Seven sisters dance where sunbeams bow, I fade if chased, yet gleam somehow. Name me, arcing hope you never hold, Whispered myths of pots of gold.

I’m a child who has perfect aim. When I strike, wisdom forgets its name. I attack when least expected, Leaving my targets connected. To me, love is merely a game.

In Akron we have a special name for this narrow piece of land, although no hellfire or pitchfork is in hand.

I can sometimes be cracked, and you can usually find me in a trail. If I describe your mind, your thoughts are probably off the rail.

I am a word that begins with the letter i. If you add the letter a to me, I become a new word with a different meaning, but that sounds exactly the same. What word am I?