Forged

Beaten.
Melted in the crucible.
Softened.
Beaten again,
and then, again, the fire.

This is how you were made,
painfully shaped,
the product of heat and force,
steady, unrelenting
repetition creating a beauty
both useful,
and strong.

About this poem

I have a fascination with blacksmith’s shops. I always have. The process. Heat. Force. Cooling water, repeated and repeated, yields magical things.

It works with people too, I believe. Though at times, when we are on life’s anvil, it is hard to see the artist at work. We feel only battered.

Tom