#blacksmithing
I have become as steel, forged within frigid winters heart
With a hardness, no desert summer could hope to rust
Sharpened to a fine edge between shifting sands
And grinding glaciers, which, given millennia have honed
Shaping my geometry in such a way as to cut inward
Carving jagged crevasses at right angles to the core
Whose arrhythmic pattern resembles a diseased damascus
Indistinguishable from the delaminations of a failed weld
Running down the length of my spine with spiderweb cracks
Covered by a clever fuller designed to distract the eye
With a stylized straight line, slowly tapering at the tip
Rounded by the blunt force trauma of repeatedly stabbing
The anvil on which I had been so hastily hammered
Jul 6, 2024
Jul 6, 2024 at 9:04 AM UTC
The dust will gather on beaten forge
which crafted hardened steel.
Even hardest blade it gorged,
but all forget the Blacksmith.
Rooted deep in township’s yore
with a trade of kings and conquest.
Upon him once relied your lore,
but all forget the Blacksmith.
Leathered hands, up night and day
with visage of steel and focus.
Sparks will reign and fly and spray,
but all forget the Blacksmith.
But when your steed wears down his hooves
or your gate-posts starts to splinter,
you’ll be found needing hardened grooves;
you won’t forget the Blacksmith.
For it is he who works all day
And keep the townsfolk working.
If you need hardship kept at bay,
Don’t forget the Blacksmith.
Jan 5, 2018
Jan 5, 2018 at 6:21 AM UTC
Pounding and grinding,
Toiling and bending,
The steel bends to the hammer's blows,
Something attempted, something made, my life laid bare upon the anvil of life, Forged in the fires of loss, and quenched in the waters of fear. I am how I was Forged, sharp and strong, yet with the loss I am facing, I feel dull and weak.
Nov 1, 2017
Nov 1, 2017 at 10:45 PM UTC
Mold me a helm of platinum.
Plate my neck in ornate roses
and arc both ******* in tongues of steel.
Spill an hourglass of silver sheets
to silhouette each torso curve.
Sculpt iron vines over each hip.
Caress my keep in chastened press;
form gold like liquid down my legs.
Engrave a crest of two joined doves
upon my hexagonal shield.
String leather sheathes with your golden hair.
Equip a morning star with spires
that mock the dullness at your rest,
yet forge my sword of diamond strength
formidable as your excited state.
Look on me where I stand armored.
Embrace away my fancied suit.
Please…
lay me down, Love, gently Love,
and place a flower in my hair.
Nov 3, 2016
Nov 3, 2016 at 2:34 PM UTC