I hammer will into wealth.
I harden principles,
sharpen my sense of
value.

wipe beads of sweat from
forehead and face, leaving
streaks of oil and blood upon
features

weathered by yesterday's
scolding self-loathing.
it took me nowhere.
gave me nothing.

I put chisel to the weld uniting
days past with those to come,
and divorce the need to
regret. to bang

my head against the wall of
who I once were.
the hurt I've dealt.
the stupid things a young man

can say under influence and not.
my whitest coals were the
trust I placed; the handle of my
hammer in the hands of

any authority seeming capable  
to swing it against an anvil
more often empty than not.
no more. not again.

I forge my own future.
breathing on hot coals, thrusting
raw metal into the red heart of
the fire.

this is my forgery.
I built it with my own two hands.
the only two
that may create within it.