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
Copyright © Terry Robinson | Year Posted 2015
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