Hush, the dark forest winds blink
observing their own rituals
undisturbed by Anvil.
In the stillness
between their push and pull
he remains sure.
Obscured by ocean waves
behind the human veil
in the space between words
his yearning puzzles me.
Love for the cosmos, he says.
I remain unsure.
Along a stretch of coastline
he moors his mind, and sails.
Along the steel sky-scraping girders
he beams, scaling the ribs.
Along the path of wisdom
amidst the bellows' roll clouds
he forges on the iron
himself.
Refinement of shape
development of spirit
his respect for the sanctity
of all souls, his love for the man
propels him, into the depths of his senses
he falls into anger, primordial
yet he burns brighter
as he fights to control
his passions.
A soul flaming
he knows not of space or time
only their great backdrop
which prevails.
The waves sailed
the heights climbed
his refinement strengthened
from the heat of the anvil,
the dew of his forest evaporates
revealing his true form, resilient,
sizzling atop green leaves, buoyant
in wispy vigor
honored by the bright anvil itself
energized by the space between it
and the hammer he holds,
stillness.
Forged by Anvil
battered by the heat and hammer
he rights his ship outwards
into the abyss, fearless in tonnage
his own destiny
his engine of certainty
prevailing.
Enchanted in opportunity
to engage his senses
captivated in yearning
for the risk of
loving it all
he needs me not
to believe him.