His tempered 220
Cut through me like 440.
Slicing through my body and soul
Destroying everything I had built myself from.
A rubbish heap,
I lay broken.
Rusting away, rotting in the elements.
Until I was delicately fathered up
And placed back in the fire
To be molded and hammered -
Restored to my old glory
By my very own blacksmith.
No comments:
Post a Comment