The smith opens his anvil, his workstation.
Hammer in hand, mentally, attempting all he has planned:
To form another creation, based on observation.
Creative steel – in demand – yields to his every command.
The hard work will undergo many an alteration;
Creative designs, revisions in the mind.
Decisions based on the ornate eloquence,
Thoughts realigned; impurities cause frustration.
Fiery red metallic ink – new sparks will flash,
Under the pressure of each hammer crash.
Pushing mettle to the brink, with line;
The work is slowly forming to his preference.
Forcing past each new mental block,
Racing against mortality`s cooling clock.
Into the raging fire; there focused, his seemingly blank
stare -
Which holds purpose beyond compare, fuelled by pure desire.
Knock after knock, the heart keeps pounding;
Shock after shock, the mind keeps rebounding.
A craftsmanship rather rare; for when situation seems dire,
When the face is in the mire, he still sees all things fair.
Crafting, sweating – though others may not understand;
Steadily, readily – forging forward with dedication -
Until, every strand, of what started of barren and bland;
Has become a gilded creation, of his fruitful imagination.
No comments:
Post a Comment