Thvia Shetley Poet Free verse

Harakiri

The task commissioned,
the black sand tested,
deemed worthy
of hard use.

A sword-smith's prayer
lifts aloft to the Shinto shrine
requesting his soul be captured
in the mirrored grain
of this, his finest blade.

An earthen furnace raging,
flames licking the entrance.
To smelt, to cleanse,
charcoal carbon to mix,
breathing strength
into raw tamahagane.

Shingane, kawagane,
one brick of each.
feeding the mouth
of a greedy forge.
Regurgitating and melting,
making pliable these.

Leathered craftsman hands
drive out flaws and sparks,
hammering, bending,
meticulously folding
thirty-thousand times.

Tired and spent,
black eyes linger
over the polished steel,
to inspect and examine,
acknowledging a masterpiece.

Now, commission completed,
his motive revealed.
with an unthinkable descent;
momentum for a sickening plunge,
as his own life force
runs red the reflective hada.

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Jannie Breedt October 19, 2017 at 9:03 AM Reminiscent of Madam Butterfly. The suspense is a mix with the macabre intertwined with the smiths knowledgeable detail. Respect.

David Smalling November 11, 2010 at 11:42 AM Can't stop loving this poem

Kabuteng P.Ink K. September 12, 2010 at 7:44 AM Oh wow-- this sure is another write of yours that's masterfully written-- I am not familiar with the Japanese words you used here but I could still picture this in my mind's eye so well-- you sure are talented, Thvia! :) --nikko :)

David Smalling September 11, 2010 at 6:00 PM A poet should not trace with words the margin of a subject, but should immersed self into it like a sea, and come up licking it, breathing it, as is exemplified in this write ... we are earth's last philosopher's and first scientist, seeing with a double eye the length, width, and depth of human purpose. Congratulations to the genius that rises to the challenge

Poet Destroyer A September 9, 2010 at 9:34 AM i good one on subject, much enjoyed your write..P.D.

David Smalling September 9, 2010 at 7:36 AM Thanks for not only being a great creative genius, but honoring me as friend. I read this poem slowly, and excellence is here again. Such an artistic forging of a myth, superbly writ.