The Blacksmith's Crucible

[trobbo44]

Dark now I stand, the Blacksmith's Crucible,
cobalt cold and chipped ice to the touch.
Like a jetty on a winter's day, mooring empty boats
jostled about by vexed waves that bully the weak.

There was a time I stood like Vesuvius.
Naked to your cause, hungering
for that momentary thrust of raw steel.

I resonated with the intensity of platinum-white heat,
ready to shape your dreams, before returning a shaped steel,
forged by my love, pliable to your hammer.

Buckets of water quenched your prize,
sending screaming rivulets of steam off to find a
haven from the heat. Then, standing proud,
you admired our work, as an artist to his canvas.

But, days passed into years and years into an age.
And from the corner of my empire, I watched
the spring of your prime, turn to the clay filled
winter of your day. Like the dimming of a lustrous pearl

And now your apron hangs on its nail,
collecting spiders' yearly
endeavours. Whilst motionless and resolute,
I guard your kingdom and await your return.
Ready to burn again the heat of battle once more.