The Blacksmith's Crucible

Dark I stand, cobalt cold and chipped ice to the touch. Like a jetty on a winter's day, mooring empty, friendless boats jostled by vexed waves; bullying the weak. But there was a time. I stood like Vesuvius, naked to your cause. And hungered for that momentary thrust of raw steel, releasing spumante detonations that reached a soot filled sky. I resonated with the intensity of platinum-white heat, ready to shape your dreams. Before returning it forged by my love and pliable to your hammer Buckets of water would quenched your prize and sent screaming rivulets of steam off to find a haven from the heat. Then, standing proud, admired our work, as an artist to his canvas But, days passed into years and years into an age. And from the corner of my empire, I watched the spring of your prime, turn to the clay filled winter of your day. Like the dimming of a lustrous pearl And now your apron, hangs on its nail, gathering collections of a spiders yearly endeavours. Whilst motionless and resolute, I guard your kingdom and await your return. Ready to recommence the heat of battle once more