This day
I find myself dreaming about my past
Thinking about the mistakes I've made
About why I've done those things

This day
I feel smaller than I did yesterday
Feeling lesser inside than I was
Lesser not in body but in spirit

This day
I see myself as a more vulnerable person
Seeing through invisible parts of me
Through the heart and the mind

This day...
This day will soon end

Tomorrow...
Tomorrow is a new day

Calm he is, in front of his subjects,
In front of those who obey
Those who serve
Those who ****
For him

For he is, their King,
Their lord and master
He is omnipotent
And all powerful.

Surrounded he is, by his wealth
Encompassed by gold and silver
He is drowning
In his own greed.

Hiding he is, within himself
Worried about his title
Consumed by his fear
Of his future usurper

Worried he is, deep inside
About who will conquer him
Will it be his closest friend?
Or his oldest enemy?

He is no gentle King
No peaceful Lord
He has been merciless
To friend and foe alike

He cowers at night,
Unable to sleep,
Thinking that any night
Could be his last

Now in his old age,
With no heir beneath him,
He thinks to himself silently,
What will be my legacy?

Day unto Day, I track my prey
Night unto Night, I stalk my victim
My hunt is not one for satisfaction
It is not pleasure or fun
It is out of necessity.
I hunt because I must,
I live in the wilds because I must,
I bring home my finds because I must.

My hunt is what keeps my family fed,
My hunt is what keeps the tanner busy,
My hunt is what keeps the leather-worker stocked,
My hunt is what keeps the saddles fresh,
My hunt is what keeps the people warm,
My hunt is what keeps the trade flowing.

My tools are crafted by my friends;
Not necessarily friends by choice but by necessity.
Fellow townsfolk keep me content because they must,
Not because I am friendly to them.
Fellow townsfolk keep my family safe because they must,
Not because they are joyed by their presence.

If not for my skills,
I would be as distanced as the wild animals,
As shunned as the insanities of men,
As estranged as the drunks,
As feared and hated as the beasts that stalk in the night.

I am not like the others.
I may be an outsider here,
But without me, they would all be outsiders to the world beyond.
How can one man judge another when the other keeps the man alive?

The cool winter air makes the grass sway like the ocean's waves.
Makes the limbs of trees, both young and old, dance fancifully without care of who's watching.
The brilliant sun, bold as it is, is shy this morn
Only peaking over the icy mountain tops.
The sky is as clear and beautiful as a newly forged glass sculpture.

As I turn around, I see my home,
The furnace still warm from yesterday's work
sits quietly in the center
The bellow, old with use
waits impatiently for it's next push
The anvil, stubborn with age
tightens it's muscles, prepared for the torment of the day
The mallet and hammer, young with ambition
remember the creations so recently forged with creativity
The ground is riddled with steel and coal
The grass here is burnt and covered with the now stagnant embers of the furnace
The walls are filled with the tools of my trade,
all made in this very place.

The day has begun.
I act with repetition as I have so many days and nights prior.
I lay fresh coals upon the furnace
I push the bellow with all my strength
The furnace begins to roar with vigor like a newly awoken bear
I pull new, unworked steel from the bin
Laying the steel upon the fire,
I can see the color change and shift rapidly
I prepare the hammer and mallet for use, and hear their excitement fill this place
Pulling the steel from the fire, I lay it upon the grouchy anvil.
Then I begin my work of creation.
Hammer meets steel,
sparks and embers fly,
steel morphs it's shape,
the day is now warm in this place.

For hours, this process continues
The furnace only grows warmer,
The bellow only grows more worn,
The anvil only tires with work,
The mallet and hammer only become more ecstatic.
Until the creation is complete.

The day is complete.
The wind has all but ceased.
The grass now as still as all the sleeping creatures.
The trees' festival is complete.
The air is now freezing.
The furnace is cooling again,
The bellow is at peace again,
The anvil is relaxed again,
The mallet and hammer are quiet again.

I sit here now, watching the sun retreat behind the lake.
It's setting as colorful as a painting.
My work today is done,
My tools are silent,
My creation is complete.
I too, can now bask in the serenity of the night.