The Blacksmith song
is hard and deep
and worked for years
in the Fire's keep
At the forge of fire
I bellow my flame
and hammer out
a life in pain
The iron sings
as it falls there upon
and the sparks fly far
until the heat is gone
Then dipped in coals
and drowned in light
to burn away
the impure night
Here the sword is deftly made
The oaths are sworn
The debts are paid
and death is born
(September 21st, 2017)
YOU ARE READING
Post Modern Mystic
PoetryPoetry fills a need of the human heart to express through the construction of artistic verse, the things that hide in its depths. This book of poetry is my attempt to reach those places and beyond. See if I do. Let me know if I reach you. This will...
