Forged

Forged

Forged

Iron is as iron does,
we’re thrown in hell
and, heated up, we
just begin to melt n’ bend,
losing ourselves in
that white-hot mess.

Then, tossed aside,
we hiss like cigarettes
spited when we
collide, with the cold
that threatens to subside
that beaten, heated,
repeated blow,
tossed, we sink so far below
thought never again
to see the light.

And then we emerge
with sharpened wit
our minds an edge and,
that’s not the half of
it-

we’re weapons worked,
shaped by spite, given
folds to face the fight
of any crude hammer, unshaped
by strife, who thinks they
have the unearned right
to cross the heart their
untempered pith could
never hope to  ever slight.

__________________________________________

Well, folks, you may have noticed I’m back. After a nasty attempt at life to get the upper hand, I can say it played a damned good game but it lost out in the end. This little poem here’s a tribute to all of you out there who might have been going through something that never felt like it was going to end but, thankfully, it did and, well, we came out better in the end, didn’t we?

Crude in its structure, you’ll have to forgive a tired mind for not being a little more imaginative at times; however, I think this is one of those ones that just needs to get out there and hopefully it marks me getting back on track. I do hate just a straight rhyme but I’ll take what I can get out of my dulled mind at the moment!

Here’s to hoping that your week isn’t long, your life goes a little better, and that weekend comes quickly to call you home.

Special thanks to saavem for the spiffy lil’ image up there.

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4 responses

  1. Love your last sentence in your explanation! And very powerful poem! Glad you survived!

    1. Well, thank you! 😀 Hopefully I’ll be back to my normal posting scheme soon!

  2. Moments of brilliance there. Nice thematic imagery to develop the metaphor. I wouldn’t call it crude, though. More like nearly done.

    1. Well, thank you and thanks a million for readin’! 🙂

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