The Wordsmith's Anvil

The Wordsmith's Anvil

 It starts as a tiny ember

In my mind, heart, and soul

A single word or simple thought

Synapses fire furiously

Fanning it like a blacksmith's bellows

Suddenly it is a roaring fire

Brain now engulfed in the blaze

I have to quench quickly

Lest it consumes me

I plunge the raw metal into the inferno

My pen hammers the blank

The steel anvil rings out as

I strike the glowing red words

Forming lines with each stroke

Turning the twisting chaotic lines

Into meaningful stanzas

Intensely hammering the poetic flow

The metal cools as the fire reduces

Ink dries as the fire dies

Cooling breezes slow the synapses

With calming calculations

Now only the polishing remains