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February 10, 2003

The Blind Blacksmith

The blacksmith sits cross-legged on the ground
Formidable he strikes the iron band -
He feels his sinews tauten as he pounds
And shapes a permanence with skillful hand.
In wordless conversation with his Muse
he turns the fillament in glowing tongs,
then, marshalling his force, again renews
the heavy mallet's adamantine song.

No heavy heart those savage blows betray
no secret pain or furious desire,
How tenderly his calloussed hands survey
The product of his competence and fire.
This squatting potentate with eyes unseeing
Has wrought Potential into perfect Being.

Posted by sahelsteve at February 10, 2003 03:59 PM