Iron Clad (Part 1)
A young man eager with intentions but shy at heart
The sun had nearly dried his soul, yet he held
And her violent sickness still lingered in the darkness
He dwelled quietly in the basement under warm blankets
Alone apparent in the empty evenings pining for everything
And then a jerk, hard and firm, like a helpful noose
To the crucible of command, burning over his men
His voice strained in the dust and drought
As the sun once again flailed fat from his flanks
A ripe piglet for the blades of men, a hard path
The red ran out of the rose, and much for misery
No more simple smiles, just pain and pressure
His skin began to blister, there was nothing left to do
Late one night he gave in and the shell began to form
Wrought iron, his soul would forever be tempered
Harder it grew, though he wished to remain supple
There was no choice, no option, and then the return
A gap in guard but then a new blaze on the horizon
No rest, no hope, no more candles, just more iron
Complete armor for the onslaught, just to survive
But with that iron, with that protection came a darkness
Ferrous parts drew out from the air an ill corrosion
It grew and grew on the outer shell, but he could not see.
Another ally? They would not mistake his kindness
This darkness would speak for him, speak his piece
No need for love or selflessness, no need for others
Just his own needs, no one else matters, only him
The darkness spoke volumes and he relented
"Take what you want, the heck with the rest, they are weak"
And he allowed it, he indulged it, he became It
Copyright © Slight Buckling | Year Posted 2010
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment