Song of the Swordsmith
In this kiln of flesh fire this strange clay,
Unhappy boy, crazed youth,
Prisoner and lover,
Wild man and wanderer,
Mathematician, laborer, fool,
Drunkard and boxer,
Smith me a spirit on your anvil of life:
Flowing fist to fashion a shape,
Burning nectar to form an edge!
Poet take up your pen,
Rider mount your iron horse,
Beholder embrace your world,
Drink deeply the tempering elixir,
Breathe deeply the bellowing heat!
Mortal oven armor the immortal flame
While I draw this mind from its forge,
Bathed in blood, lifted by spirit,
Raise this shimmering sword to the weathered sky
As your handmaiden tends this sheath of dust!
May 2004 Revised 2011