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i.

my first thoughts
are not sharp

everything glows
with the intensity
of cold prewrought destiny
resounding with hephaestus' mark

quiet cut with stark
and deliberate arcs
bestowing me form
and new purpose

a silhouette cursed from the start
still lacking
a guiding hand
to show me
my heart


ii.

my first work
was bark

soft flesh
and eyes starred
carved a message
unspoken and desperate

enamored dissection
by perilous scrawl
cautiously crawling 'cross
nature in fall

I still awake with a start
to that first taste of sap
like a stain
on a surface
scarred


iii.

my thrust soon
turned dark

directed with hectic
attempts to bring
prophesies hence
that were once
the result
of a shard

skin flecked
with macabre respect
as my edges witness
limbs twisting
in war


iv.

thus
I was given
a heart


v.

and with it
a rust
that won't part
this one sounds particularly tinny.

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literature. by Rammy-Rams


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March 6, 2012
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