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The Wordsmith's Anvil

The Wordsmith's Anvil It starts as a tiny ember In my mind, heart and soul A single word or simple thought Synapses fire furiously Fanning it like a blacksmith's bellows Suddenly it is a roaring fire Brain now engulfed in the blaze I have to quench quickly Lest it consume me I plunge the raw metal into the inferno My pen hammers the blank The steel anvil rings out as I strike the glowing red words Forming lines with each stroke Turning the twisting chaotic lines Into meaningful stanzas Intensely hammering the poetic flow The metal cools as the fire reduces Ink dries as the fire dies Cooling breezes slow the synapses With calming calculations Now only the polishing remains

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Kim Merryman

Date: 8/4/2016 8:58:00 PM

Hilliard, I love how you creatively described the writing process. Great analogy. Blessings!

Hillard Sarver
Date: 8/4/2016 9:07:00 PM

Thank you for reading and reviewing this writing. It was something that came to me while I was driving and I could not get back fast enough to write it on my computer.

Christine Lehman

Date: 8/3/2016 7:11:00 PM

And sometimes the polishing is the hardest part - but you make it look easy! Very well written and enjoyable poem!

Hillard Sarver
Date: 8/3/2016 8:11:00 PM

Thank you for reading and reviewing this writing. Oh, I agree with you sometimes; the polishing is the hardest part. However, often the stream of thought knows the style and the flow, and we just have to accept it, and that makes the polishing easier.