A Sword

The sword is forged by its maker
Simple iron and carbon metals are chosen
Then brought together
In the heat of fire they are allowed
Each fully present; but their properties
Forever linked to make steel
From which beauty will arise

Constant stress of fire and forge
Changes the steel as it is toughened
More heat releases the tension as
The smith uses his hammer to work
This metal. Each time it is
Stronger and builds to its purpose
Forging a hard lesson softened
In the tempering fire of being still

The sword emerges with a graceful curve
Holding a fine sharp edge.
Its beauty cheats it purpose
It holds my eye. The artists
Passion for his craft more relevant
Than the labor spent
The end is worthy of all
Today the sword is never a thing
Of anger, but it is homage
To a culture no longer active

When I look at the sword
Knowing its individual history of
Fire and Hammer, and ultimately
The sharpening by stone
Patient polishing and honing
I see the evolutions in our life.
Ultimately we are prepared for
All we must do.
However, when we are held
In quite peace
We exhibit so much more.