Catalan Forge

My soul has been pricked

and my heart has been pushed

Blue, beautiful fire

Blue-Green, the hottest places in my soul’s furnace

Demands for justice in hot tears role out from that bloomery

the malleus drops

and the spark flies

igniting the willing furnaces around.

Who will be the Stoker, who will light the fires?

My inactivity is not a possibility

any shallow existence not tolerated

the flames lick up against the edges of my form

burning away the nonsense and fear

In my eyes the fire back lights

and glow narrow and steadied

my voice picks up among the others

instead of the cacophony of a 1000 hammers falling at random

we rise

we drop

we rise

we drop

together our voices

rhythmically

deliberately

amplify the others

what begins in the furnace of the one

is now the fire of the people

 

 

 

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