A Poem - Blade (2012)

Weigh the blade with 

A supple wrist,
Find its balance, 

Lilt and list.

The blade is wrought from tempered blends,
In nine white fires nine demons tend.
Nine times in icy depths it's thrust,
Slough off each impure outer crust.

Next white-hot blade takes ringing blows,
That arm an ancient puissance knows.
Love, envy, loss and wisdom-folly,
By these blows blade is made holy.

Anoint the blade with unguent balms,
Enweave the blade with potent charms.
Sing hidden magicks from the air,
Forge runes to fend off mortal cares.

Last stoke the furnace of the heart,
The final forging named 'Thou Art'.
The blade is supple, lithe and hard,
Fix blade to hilt and hilt to guard.

Weigh the blade with

A supple wrist,
Find its balance,

Lilt and list.

White fire, dread cold
proved the blade is true.

You forged the blade

and the blade is you.