From Anvil To
what was hammered out
upon my stainless soul
had the smith a purpose
or was i forged without control,
the fires that i cool from
were hotter than just flame
for they burned in desire
so my temper might gain,
then to the pure accepting water
was i cast so long and deep
as if to cleanse the slag
that i carried from the heap,
so now i am his sculpture
what fate would i serve
if he thinks it's back to the fire
then he sure has plenty of nerve.....
.
.
temper as in strength...
Copyright © Richard Poor | Year Posted 2014
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