The Blacksmith

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The sword seemed to melt out of the fire
Tip glowing he lies it on the cold stone table
Hammer in hand he gazes over the metal wonder
Then out of nowhere he brings the hammer down
With each resounding bang more of the smith seeps into the weapon

Until, He is lost in the sword, he is the sword
He can feel the ring of the hammer on his skin
Willing himself to bend into a sharp blade
With the last hit he is thrust into a pool of water
Hardening

Hardening


Hardening





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