This is for the workshop on 10/11/2015
Discipline
Wordsmith stokes the dwindling coals
servant of the splint and stone.
A sweating fettered soul
shackled to the anvil and grind.
Screaming steam runs wet off the breathless word,
forging the silver braces of poetry.
Hammer, striking the infant flame
of each iron wrought word.
Master of tenderness,
does the same discipline blessed to the word
follow father to battle
and mother to God?
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