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My Body my Iron, the Track my Anvil

Cold, ugly, lifeless, raw
Lumps of iron sit idly by the furnace
A moment of clarity, a spark, a thought, a need to forge
To shape this lifeless block of iron, to make it new, to make it stronger
The fire is lit, the coals grow hotter, the fire intensifies as the billows are pumped
It’s begun, there’s no turning back now

The iron heats, the temperature immense, it glows red hot in anticipation for what is to come
“CLANG!” the first strike, as hammer hits steel. Heat and pressure shaping the formless blob
Pounding and pounding, faster and faster, to build up you must first break, bend and shatter.
There’s no holding back, no letting up, with each hit of the hammer the steel begins to take shape.
Back, back into the fire, it cannot be allowed to cool.
The work cannot stop once it has begun.
No pause, no break, no letting up, back from the fire to the anvil and back again.
Not ceasing until the lifeless shapeless block becomes a powerful gleaming sword

Getting closer now, the sword is taking shape, so close now, don’t stop
Keep hammering, keep shaping, don’t let up, so close now
The final strikes, the refining blows
The raw shape is there, a sword can be seen through the soot and ash
Out of the fires and the brutality of the hammering emerges something amazing
Now once more into the fires, one final plunge, then quick, into the water now, harden, toughen the steel.
So close now, almost ready now, almost perfect
Hone an edge, sharpen every inch, leave no edge rolled over
At long last a beautiful polished masterpiece, as sharp as any other, made to last and endure through the harshest battle
But this is not the end of the journey, for this masterpiece must be maintained, must continually be sharpened and honed
And this sword, forged from the sweat and determination of the smith’s will, shall last for ages to come.





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