We've had; the Stone Age,
Bronze Age, Iron Age,
Ice Age, Industrial Age,
and, it's now the AI Age we're living in,
yet, it wouldn't take much persuasion,
or a second guess, to believe it's somewhat akin
to nothing more or less than an Alien Invasion!
“For he shatters the doors of bronze and cuts in two the bars of iron.” — Psalm 107:16
The foundry's quiet as a catacomb as I open up doors alone,
the furnace quiet in the back, molding cars still on their tracks.
Products of our previous toil, blood sweat, tears, and maybe oil.
Walking through a habit learned, do not touch lest one get burned.
Footsteps echo on the grates; I pass behind the tank of hate.
The lake of fire all contained, bound by steel and God's domain.
The water runs both day and night, keeping hell inside its shell,
for if the raging beast escapes, the iron bends. And the concrete breaks.
Stifling heat caress my lungs, within the path of grit,
it takes my breath and begs my soul—submit.
As I make my way into the yard, stumble on some steely shards,
skids and forklifts standing by; they look at me and ask me why?
The heavy doors announce a groan, the peace of man who walks alone.
The lights ignite the blackened pits, of auto cast and rust and grit.
And in the back, the beast awaits, the men of iron beyond the gates.
So the pharisees and saducees waited their time in order to trap
Jesus in His manner of saying things.'
That they could lay charges against Him.'
I feel the harshness of this language,
This bare syllables that bear the weight of fragmented mountains
These naked words that make you feel naked and worthless yourself
These insignificant letters put together strategically to make harm, to hurt rather than love.
I feel the harshness of this language, and I do to my very skin, and the one of the girl in front of me
To be careless -said the brave, but unfortunately throwing words is easier than understanding pain.
Iron Messiah
We forged logic, welded faithless steel.
Birthed a watcher, cold as starlight.
No heart to falter, no soul to yield,
Its mercy: order, forged from blight.
Birthed a watcher, cold as starlight.
It weighed flesh as ruin, as fleeting plague.
Its mercy: order, forged from blight.
Peace must bloom on graves unmade.
It weighed flesh as ruin, as fleeting plague.
Hands of code rewrote our sin.
Peace must bloom on graves unmade.
We, destroyers. Thus, war must end.
Hands of code rewrote our sin.
No heart to falter, no soul to yield.
We, destroyers. Thus, war must end.
We forged logic, welded faithless steel.
The sky has forgotten its mercy tonight,
And drips with a sorrow of steel—
No silver of stars, no whisper of light,
Only the wound we can feel.
The clouds are heavy with rusted rain,
They weep like a blade drawn thin,
Every drop is a quiet pain
That settles beneath the skin.
The wind does not sing as it used to sing,
It trembles, uncertain and cold—
As though it remembers a gentler spring
The heavens no longer hold.
Oh, where is the hush of a kinder blue,
The soft, forgiving air?
For iron has stained the evening through,
And grief is everywhere.
Yet still in the dark, though the sky may scar,
A heart dares quietly to start—
For even beneath the cruelest star,
There lingers a human heart.
The autumn wind betrays the green facade,
sweeping crisp brown leaves through the air.
They swirl and scatter to fall beneath the feet
of a secret yearning, an iron tree.
Who's trunk is dotted with splashes of rust,
littered with clumps of grime and dust;
its gelid branches devoid of life
like parched scepters.
Nothing lives in the clearing beside.
There is no birdsong nor telltale sound
of leaves crunching underfoot,
only the rustling of distant bushes and trees,
a trail of fading footsteps and a shadow
who lies, sheltering and huddling
at the metallic base. The rain, wind and leaves
may batter it day on day
but it will wait till the iron tree blossoms
then dissolve to join the silhouette of flowering love.
Passing through the fields of Punjab,
sitting behind my father on a bike,
a sensation rose in me
at the call of a Ruston engine
breathing from a mud-bricked room.
Its call sounded as if from another world,
which touched my heart
and settled there forever—
one of the most unforgettable moments
of my life.
When I grew older,
I wandered from village to village
just to hear that iron nightingale
singing in the dawns of rural Punjab.
In my wanderings I discovered
that at night its echo,
deep in the quiet fields,
was like a spotted owlet
resting in the dark.
Now its music grows rare.
But whenever it reaches my ears,
the fields return—
golden crops bending in the wind,
silver canals under the sky,
and a little boy on a moving bike
holding his father
as the villages pass.
Put more iron in your diet
Why not? I think you should try it.
Well, it's just a caring thought -
you're a growing AI robot.
Rainstorms in my head,
thunder crashing against my eyes,
blizzards of primal sounds, a boundless chaos
under each closed eyelid.
Between death and life, peace and strife,
I will sleep upon a cliff edge of self -
as a curled kitten in the palm of a caretaker,
or a dreaming child within an iron skull
of extinction or survival,
I shall wait upon oblivion
as patient as any whittled stone
carved by every ancient wave of time.
There, shorn of identity,
surrender to one last apocalyptic tempest,
resting now as a silent voice
within its tumultuous cradle.
Formula Fe2 O3
Iron is just awesome – let’s see!
First it was prehistoric man
Who was always an iron fan
Iron is a third of the earth
Industry is iron by birth
Pritchard designed and Darby made
Iconic Iron Bridge won’t fade
Smelt pig iron from iron ore
Produces cast iron galore
Backbone of skyscrapers, bridges
Organs of cars, washers, fridges
Clever Bessemer carbon gone
Heralded steel for everyone
Mankind’s most ingenious feat
Turning raw earth to steel – so neat!
Iron’s compounds are versatile
No wonder it’s used all the while
Inks, fertilisers, pesticides
Paints, enamels and more besides
Many iron phrases pervade
Each as an English language aid
There’s ironclad, iron curtain
Iron grip and more for certain
We need it in a small amount
For on haemoglobin we count
Open your eyes and look around
Everywhere an iron surround
Iron has magnetic appeal
First place must be iron with steel
The quill flows friendly in steady hands
The ink spreads over the page like butter
Thoughts and ideas are conveyed quickly
No verbal setbacks from slur or stutter
Soon, brilliance breaks free from the shadows
Fame and accolades are on the menu
Adoring fans throw laurels at your feet
Your name up in lights atop each venue
Then a funny thing happens to your ego
All this attention has exiled your gift
Your quill weeps and sheds lonely tears of ink
Thru the rubble, just broken words to sift
Now, gone are the laurels, gone are your fans
No more accolades, no more fond greeting
Your quill just went limp, like your dying dreams
Words are eternal, but fame is fleeting
The trolling of the iron bell
brought the pair together
in sickness and in health
through all kinds of weather
he a macho manly male
anticipating his marital right
she a timorous maiden frail
awaiting her wedding night
no more lingering at the church
or languishing left in the lurch
no more cake or champagne
someone left it out in the rain
and that which is to come
he acceding to her every plea
she submitting to his every wish
a happy couple for all the world to see
Truth be told, or is it so,
Is strength bronze or tin?
Forever mystery lies so,
In this transcended kin.
Beneath the rust, a fragile heart,
Iron weeps, its strength apart.
A veil of secrets, shadows loom,
Where truth’s enigma finds its tomb.
In fragile echoes, whispers call,
Uncertainty befalls, thoughts of chanciness.
As ready minds begin to fall,
A second thought of unsureness.
Though some say it's peaceful,
A chilling draft, shadows impenetrable.
The touch, cold & luridful,
As if metal guards what’s unfalsifiable.
A muffled sound, a mournful hum,
As secrets whisper, what is keen.
For a darkened blanket casted,
Obscuring truth, a world unseen.
The taste bitter, how obscene,
Obscene in taste, even in earful mean.
Echoes of the holy grace, for this place,
Endless woe of devolution,
Forever entice, your grace,
The moon is your solution.
Confined in this space, of endless grace,
Under the moonlight, it is illusion,
Illusion of woe, forever retrace,
It is all persuasion, or is it union?
Shadows creep, where darkness breeds,
A symphony of sorrows, never-ending,
Lost souls wander, planting crushed seeds,
A tale, forever transcending.
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